


like the restless sea

by Lise



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Alternate Universe Divergence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death Fix, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt Loki (Marvel), M/M, Mental Health Issues, No seriously there's a lot of angst, Odin's B+ Parenting, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Multiple, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Steve Rogers, Remember This Cold Inspired, Sad, Self-Harm, Steve Rogers Angst, Tearjerker, Temporary Character Death, Thor (Marvel) Angst, a whole bunch of feelings, this fic is also a little rough on Tony Stark so if that's not your jam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 14:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 24,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15415245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: In one universe, Steve reached the Raft in time to save everyone.In another universe, he didn't.





	1. never still

**Author's Note:**

> This is a divergent AU of my already divergent AU [Remember This Cold](https://archiveofourown.org/series/28656) \- if you haven't read that it's possible you'll be a little lost. The simple background, though, is that in an AU where Loki and Steve have been in a relationship for a while and the Sokovia Accords happened, Loki was captured and taken to the Raft prison. Which is where things diverge from RTC canon and get sad. 
> 
> This is a sad AU. It's pretty much designed as an excuse to be sad about a lot of things. It's also a multichapter fic written in pieces, so it's less one complete narrative and more me writing things as they come to me, in vignettes - which means chapters will be rearranged so that they're in chronological order as I go. I'll note in the summary when things are added in. You can find headcanons and general commentary (as well as the original postings of everything here) on my Tumblr under the [#the everything is awful au](http://veliseraptor.tumblr.com/tagged/the-everything-is-awful-au) tag.
> 
> Only further note - the nature of this fic means that Tony is not most of the people in it's favorite person right now. If that's going to be upsetting, you might wanna steer clear of this one.

Loki was executed in a chamber hidden deep within the Raft prison. It took almost thirty minutes for him to die of suffocation - the method chosen so as not to damage the body. His eyes never moved from Ross’s face, like he could somehow see him through the one-way glass.

* * *

“Where’s Loki,” Steve asked. They’d found Wanda, and Steve had hoped he’d be with her, but she was alone - still shaking, still hunched into herself, and Steve’s stomach clenched nervously.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t know. They took him out after Stark left.”

Steve’s heart plummeted. “Took him where?” He asked. Sam’s expression was taut.

“I wish I could tell you.”

Clint looked up from where he was standing with his arm around Wanda’s shoulders, murmuring to her. “There’s gotta be a central command of some kind,” he said. “Might be a map, or video…”

“I’ll go,” Steve said. “You guys get out of here.” They all stared at him, and Steve made his voice firmer. “Go. I’ll be right behind you.”

They went, to his relief, and Steve made his way deeper in. The command center was occupied, but Steve could deal with the soldiers there easily enough, though he tried to be relatively gentle. The system took some working out, and then he had to find the archives, sorted neatly by date. He went back a few days, trying to scan quickly.

His eyes snagged on one of the videos, something catching some faint recognition in the thumbnail. He clicked on it, glancing quickly over his shoulder.

At first Steve didn’t understand what he was seeing.

When he did, he dragged the video forward to the end, something roaring in his ears, thinking  _please, please, please._ He watched Loki’s struggles slow and finally stop. Someone came in and pressed their fingers to his neck, then turned and said something. Steve waited for Loki to break loose, to get up.

The video ended when two others came in and removed Loki (Loki’s body). Steve felt sick.

 _Oh god,_ he thought.  _Oh god._ He couldn’t move, standing paralyzed, staring at the last image. Where had he been when Loki took his last breath?  _Ross won’t kill him,_ Tony had said, so certain.

Steve knew he had to leave, but leaving would make it real.

“Steve? What are you doing?” Sam, behind him. Steve swallowed hard and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. “Did you find him?”

“No,” Steve croaked. “He’s not…here.”

“What do you mean?” Sam’s voice was sharp, and Steve heard him coming over.  _Don’t,_ he wanted to say.  _If no one else sees it then it didn’t happen._

“Oh, fuck,” Sam said softly. Steve flinched. He heard Sam inhale harshly and then he grabbed Steve’s arm. “I’m sorry, Steve, but we have to leave. Now.”

Steve blinked, waking up. “No,” he said, yanking away. “I have to - I have to find out where they took him. I’m going to find Ross and I’m going to - going to-”

“ _Steve,_ ” Sam said. “Come on. Everyone’s waiting, if you stay here you’re going to get locked up. Loki wouldn’t want-”

“Loki doesn’t want anything anymore,” Steve said, almost a shout. His eyesight blurred and his eyes burned. “Because I walked away, I  _left_ him to this-”

“And what about everybody else?” Sam demanded. “Wanda’s practically falling apart. Clint’s effectively lost his family. Don’t they deserve some consideration?”

That cut deep. He owed them. He owed all of them, sacrificing themselves for him.

He let Sam pull him out, every breath like knives in his lungs.

* * *

The first week he kept thinking Loki would show up. Would appear, smiling and pleased about his clever trick, and Steve would yell at him but would hardly manage to be that angry about it because at least he was  _alive._

He couldn’t hold on to that, though. The image of Loki thrashing as he died was too vivid on the underside of his eyelids.  _And you killed him,_ he kept thinking, even though he knew it wasn’t true.  _As good as. He was there because of you._

_In the end you’re always going to fail everyone you love._

He knew the others were hurting, too, but it was hard to think past the ache in his own chest. What would happen when Thor came back and learned he had to mourn his brother all over again, that he’d been killed by humans?

Steve almost hoped he’d sink the whole Raft into the sea.

 _You deserved better than this,_ he thought, staring up at the ceiling.  _I’m sorry. I’m sorry._

_I should have held on tighter._

He wrote Tony a letter, two sentences:  _Loki’s dead. Don’t try to contact me._  He arranged things in Wakanda.

Then he left.

It seemed best. Death followed him around, and they’d already lost enough. And Steve…being surrounded by his friends just reminded him who was missing.

It was selfish. But Steve thought maybe with Loki he hadn’t been selfish enough.

* * *

The Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross was found dead of a single gunshot wound to the head in his house. There were no witnesses. Only seven people were aware, but Steve Rogers hadn’t been seen for eight months.

In a flood in Mumbai, an earthquake in Mexico, a bombing in Kabul, a man calling himself Jack Simon kept his eyes on the sky, waiting for the sound of thunder.


	2. tossing up mud and dirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony finds out what happened after he left the Raft.

There was a letter from Steve sitting on the table in front of him. Though calling it a “letter” was probably generous: no salutation, no signature. One handwritten line.

_Loki’s dead. Don’t try to contact me._

He’d been staring at it for about a half an hour, now.

“What’s that?” Tony half turned to look at Rhodey (Rhodey, legs in braces, what a fucking  _disaster_ ) and just picked up the piece of paper, holding it out wordlessly. He raised his eyebrows at Tony but made his way over and, adjusting his crutches, took it.

“Shit,” he said, concisely.

“Don’t really need to ask how,” Tony said. His voice sounded strange. What’d he said to Steve in Siberia? _Ross won’t touch him. He won’t dare._

Apparently he’d misjudged that one.

Rhodey put the letter back on the table. “There’s nothing you could’ve done, Tony.”

“I could’ve guessed,” Tony said. “Fuck.  _Fuck._ Ross actually…”

 _Guess you don’t have to worry about that vision of yours anymore._ He didn’t like Loki. SometimesLoki straight up  _scared_ him, and with what Vision had told him about Thanos fucking  _possessing_ him that made him even more dangerous. But…Jesus.

Ross must’ve killed him practically right after Tony’d left. Maybe as he’d been telling Steve that Ross wouldn’t do it.

How’d they even  _manage_ to kill him? Loki had always seemed practically invincible.

“Tony?” Rhodey said, sounding like he’d repeated it a couple of times.

“I need to call Steve,” Tony said abruptly, standing up. Rhodey gave him a look like he was insane.

“The thing he specifically told you not to do? Come on. You’re upset, I get it, but - and you need to remember that he’s a vigilante now. A fugitive. If you get caught corresponding with him…”

“Ross can go fuck himself,” Tony said. He reached for his phone only to realize that he had no idea  _how_ to call Steve. And fuck, he was  _mad_ at Steve, he didn’t want to call and offer condolences that his psychotic boyfriend was dead, Steve owed  _him_ an apology for keeping secrets it was not his business to keep-

 _Yeah, but you did throw Loki in a shark tank without looking back._ Guilt made his stomach feel like it was full of rocks.

“And the UN?” Rhodey asked. “Are you going to tell them to go fuck themselves, too? This isn’t on you-”

Tony rounded on him. “You think Thor’s going to buy that when he gets back? I can just tell him  _yeah, I put your brother in the prison where they killed him but it’s not my fault,_ I’m sure that’ll go over  _great._ ”

Not just Thor, he realized with a chill. Loki had called Bucky Barnes his  _friend,_ and they did get along like two peas in a murdering pod. Barnes had a pretty good reason to hate him now already.

 _Steve wouldn’t let that happen,_ Tony thought a little desperately, but Steve had already proven he couldn’t control Barnes and even if he could…would he?

“I’m calling Ross,” he said finally.

“Tony,” Rhodey said lowly, “be careful.”

He wanted to call Steve. Tell him…Jesus, what?  _Sorry I got your boyfriend killed._ Whatever Tony thought about Loki, Steve loved him. Like crazy, you could see it in his face. Tony tried to imagine what it would be like if someone murdered Pepper.

He’d never forgive them.

Steve was never going to forgive him.

* * *

“What the fuck were you thinking,” he said the second Ross picked up.

“Stark,” Ross said.

“You killed Loki,” Tony said. “You just made the stupidest move you could possibly make-”

“I had a dangerous war criminal executed,” Ross said. “And where did you get that information?”

“I have good sources,” Tony said. “You don’t understand, do you? You just  _permanently alienated_ Captain America, made an enemy of a master assassin, and invited the wrath of a  _literal god._ Did you think this through? At all?”

“I did what was necessary for the sake of the world,” Ross said. “I thought you would understand that.”

Tony hung up and almost threw his phone across the room.  _You screwed up. You screwed up hard and you can’t fix it._

He remembered Loki snarling at him:  _You think you can wave your hand and throw some money around and fix everything._ He couldn’t fix this.

_You do not even comprehend what you will face, and your folly might well cost you your realm._

He might be right, Tony realized. The Avengers were already fractured, and this…this just about killed the idea of that ever changing. Which made him realize he’d kind of been expecting it would. That this wouldn’t last, eventually the band would get back together again, things would work out.

Not anymore.

And without the Avengers…

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. “Fuck,  _fuck._ ”

* * *

Tony locked himself in his lab, shut off all the cameras, and called T’Challa. “Can I talk to Steve?” He asked, fingers crossed, guessing.

“No,” T’Challa said. “He isn’t here.”

“T’Challa, please,” Tony said. “It’s important.”

“I am sure it is,” T’Challa said evenly. “But he isn’t here.” And he hung up.

Maybe an hour later he got a call back.

“Fuck you,” said Sam Wilson.

“Uh,” Tony said, taken aback.

“You think you get to just call up and ask to talk to him? After what you did? I don’t care what you want. You’re on your own. You don’t have the fucking right to ask us for  _anything._ ”

“I wanted to say-” Tony didn’t know what he wanted to say. The raw anger in Sam’s voice caught him by surprise.

“Save it,” Sam said, sounding disgusted. “I hope you’re happy being a government stooge, Mr. Stark.”

“Wait!” Tony took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize. I didn’t actually think that Ross would kill him.”

“Really,” Sam said. “You didn’t? Cause I remember people telling you exactly that several times. You just didn’t listen. Or didn’t care.”

“Where’s Steve,” Tony asked.

“No idea,” Sam said, deadpan. “Gone. He took off about a week ago on his own. I guess he figured enough was enough. And you know what? I can’t even fucking blame him.”

He hung up. Second person in two hours to hang up on him. Tony stared at his phone.  _Gone._ So Steve had walked off, Loki was dead, Natasha was missing. T’Challa had pulled back into Wakanda. Rhodey was injured and Vision was moping.

He’d just been trying to make things  _right._ How had it gotten this bad?

* * *

He went digging in Ross’s files, looking for…something. When he realized what he was looking for it almost made him stop.

He wanted to know where they’d taken Loki’s body.

The first thing he found, though, was the video of the execution. He made himself watch it and threw up in a trash can afterwards. Was that what Steve had seen? How he’d known?

Tony kept trying to rehearse what he was going to say to Thor, but nothing he thought of sounded good enough as a _sorry I got your baby brother killed_ apology.

Maybe a month later Ross died from a severe case of bullet-to-the-head. Point blank range. Barnes didn’t exactly leave a calling card that said  _you’re next,_ but then again he didn’t exactly have to.

It occurred to Tony that his vision had come true after all. Loki  _had_ destroyed the Avengers from within. All he’d had to do was die.


	3. you have heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's never been love lost between Clint and Loki. That doesn't mean he wanted this.

Clint had known it was a possibility since the moment Ross’s goons had come and taken Loki’s unconscious body away, even as some lingering part of him still believed Loki was invincible, all powerful. Still, he’d sort of figured Ross wasn’t that stupid. Or maybe hoped he wasn’t, because whatever he felt about Loki-

(He had no idea how he felt about Loki.)

–there was Steve. And Thor. And Wanda.

Clint stopped thinking about it for a while when he saw Wanda, locked up in a straightjacket, trembling, her eyes far away. Pietro didn’t even glare at him when he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Hey, kid,” he said quietly. “You’re all right.” She wasn’t, obviously. Fuck Ross. Fuck Tony.

Wanda shook it off a little when they got out into open air, wide eyes staring all around. Sam was staring back at the exit, frowning as they waited, time ticking away, and Steve didn’t come back.

“I’m gonna go find him,” Sam said. Clint could hear the vibrating tension in his voice and understood: something had gone wrong. Steve should be back by now. With Loki.

Clint’s stomach churned.

Wanda’s head lifted from where she was resting it on Pietro’s shoulder. “Where’s Loki?” She asked in a small voice. Clint glanced at her and looked away.

“Steve’s looking for him,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “They’ll be right back.” But Clint had good instincts and he had a  _feeling._ A bad one.

The door opened again and Clint reached for a weapon he didn’t have, but it was just Sam. His jaw was set and there was something dark and dangerous in his eyes. He was holding Steve’s arm and almost dragging him after, and if Sam looked pissed Steve just looked…

He looked like something in him had been crumpled up and tossed in the trash.

And they were alone.

“Come on,” Sam said, his voice hard. “We need to go.”

Clint’s stomach plummeted. There was a faint ringing in his ears.  _Impossible,_ whispered the old voice, the voice that still lingered in the back of his mind, an echo of a memory.  _You’d know. You’d have felt it, that link you always tried to deny snapping._

He walled off his emotions and just said, “right. Everyone in, let’s get out of here.”

Wanda balked when Pietro tried to tug her forward. “Wait,” she said. “We can’t leave without Loki-”

Steve - flinched.

“Wanda,” Clint said, and stopped.

“No,” Wanda said softly. “ _No._ ”

“We need to go  _now,_ ” Sam said. “ _Move._ ”

Clint’s chest burned when he inhaled. Wanda started crying. Scott looked lost, confused.

Steve didn’t say anything, just stared straight ahead at nothing like he didn’t recognize the world he stood in. Clint kind of knew how that felt. Even when he wasn’t there, Loki had been  _there._ A constant in Clint’s life, for better or for worse, ever since that day in the Dark Energy facility when he’d held Clint’s heart in the palm of his hand and said  _yes, you._

The first time he’d died it had been a relief. This time…

This was all  _wrong._

* * *

“I can’t believe Ross actually did it,” Clint said.

“I can,” Sam said. He rubbed one hand down his face. “Seems just like him. He wanted Loki maybe even more than he wanted the Avengers. He’s just smart enough to recognize that he couldn’t control Loki alive.” He half turned his head. “What I can’t believe is that  _Tony_ didn’t see this coming.”

“He didn’t want to,” Clint said. “Loki was right. Tony’s good at not seeing what he doesn’t want to see.”

Sam shook his head and stood up. “You’re more charitable than I am,” he said. Clint let him go. He hadn’t meant it to be charitable.

(His family. Were they safe? Was Ross going to hunt them down, too?)

He went to go find Wanda.

She was curled in her bedroom, eyes red and puffy. Alone. “Where’s Pietro?” Clint asked.

“I told him to leave. He was crowding me.” Wanda looked down. “This is my fault. I should have stopped Vision, given Loki the chance to get away-”

“Wanda,” Clint said. “Don’t. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

If he’d hoped to reassure her, she just drooped further. “Why do people always leave?” She asked. Clint sat down next to her

“I won’t,” he said. She looked at him with big, sad, eyes.

“You can’t promise that.”

 _Sure I can,_ he might’ve said, another day.  _I’m invincible._ But now didn’t feel like the time. He just pulled her into a hug. “I can try.”

* * *

Seeing Steve was the hardest.

Something had been stripped away from him. Something vital, and seeing him like this felt wrong, like Loki being dead felt wrong. “Steve,” Clint said, and didn’t know how to go on. He looked exhausted, burnt out.

“Clint,” he said. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Clint said. He hovered by the door. “I’m…fuck. I’m sorry, Steve.”

“Are you,” Steve said flatly. Clint flinched and Steve dropped his head forward. “Sorry.” His voice sounded dull, exhausted. Clint shifted uncomfortably; he’d never been good at this and he didn’t know how he should be acting now. He and Loki had never been friends. He’d spent a long time trying his damnedest to hate Loki and resenting that he couldn’t.

It still hurt that he was dead now.

“Loki’s…he was…” Clint fidgeted again. “He loved you.”

“I know.” Steve turned his head to the side, barely. “That’s why he’s dead.”

Well,  _fuck._ “Blame Ross, or Tony, even,” Clint said. “This is  _their_ fault-”

“They started it,” Steve said. “But Loki was in there because of me.  _I_ told him to hold back, in the fight. Maybe if I hadn’t-” He broke off, breathing loudly. Clint glanced over his shoulder, feeling like a coward.

“Steve…”

“Please leave,” Steve said. “I can’t talk right now.”

Clint held his ground. “We don’t have to talk. I can just sit here and…I don’t think you should keep locking yourself away.”

“You and everyone else,” Steve said. His eyes turned back forward and down. Clint stood there, trying to find the right words, but nothing came to mind.

Early the next morning they realized that Steve was gone. Clint wasn’t even particularly surprised.

* * *

Clint caught Barnes heading for a plane. They stared at each other for a long moment.

“Where’re you going,” Clint asked eventually.

“I’m going to kill Ross,” Barnes said. No tone. Nothing. “Don’t get in my way, Barton.”

He thought of his family. Of Steve falling apart and Wanda blaming herself. And Thor. And he thought of Loki; arrogant, vicious, loyal.

“Good luck,” Clint said, hard and cold. “I hope it hurts.”


	4. object impermanence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda knows that people always leave. That doesn't mean she's gotten used to it.

Wanda had learned early on that she could not rely on anyone to stay.

She learned it when her home exploded and she lay huddled under the bed, Pietro’s arms around her, staring at the bomb two feet away and waiting for it to explode. Smelling blood and then rot as the bodies began to decompose. She learned it when the aid workers finally came and pulled them out of the wreckage, Pietro saying  _don’t look, don’t look,_ but she had to see.

There wasn’t much left. An arm with rags of her mother’s blue dress. A foot wearing her father’s slipper. Nothing that was them: just pieces that had once been people, and she didn’t realize she was crying until she threw up on what was left of the stairs.

_Wanda,_ Pietro was saying.  _Wanda,_ and she could feel his fear,  _am I going to lose you too, we can’t, we have to stay together, no matter what._

But she couldn’t trust that they would. Their parents hadn’t meant to leave.

Maybe the two of them together, Wanda tried to convince herself, could make a shield against the world.

* * *

She’d made a home. Family. Friends. People who she loved, and who loved her; not just Wanda-and-Pietro but Clint, who seemed to think he was their big brother, and Steve, who had first welcomed them in, and Sam, whose dry humor took getting used to until she realized that he smiled with his eyes when he was teasing. Natasha, who spoke to her in her mother tongue. Vision: awkward, uncertain Vision, who asked her to teach him how to cook. He wasn’t very good at it.

And Loki. Stubborn, prickly, Loki, not-as-hard-as-he-liked-to-pretend Loki, who’d taught her that magic could be beautiful and not just a weapon, who’d sounded almost proud in Latveria saying  _perhaps you’ve forgotten how it feels to fight a worthy opponent._ Who’d called her  _witchling_ like a term of endearment.

When the bomb came, as always, it fell so fast.

* * *

The drugs were still swimming in her blood. She could still almost feel the shock collar around her throat and was glad for Clint on one side and Pietro on the other, their relief and anger beating against her in waves, and for once she was glad at the latter because it meant she didn’t have to reach for her own. It had been a long time since she’d hated someone so much.  _I am not an animal,_ she’d told herself, again and again.  _I am not a thing. I am not a weapon. Treat me like one as much as you want, but I am not - I know who I am._

Blinking in the sunlight, though, she realized that someone was missing. Less by sight than by feeling - without the collar her boundaries felt blurred, too aware of everyone around her, and one person who should be there blazing against her senses and - wasn’t.

“Where’s Loki?” She asked. Clint took a shallow breath and said nothing. “Pietro?” She asked.

“We need to go,” he said, his voice almost vibrating. He wanted to run, she could feel it. Run away from here, take her and go far away.

Sam came back. And Steve. And Steve…

She knew it then, because he felt like a raw, bleeding, open wound. Like something had been torn out of him.

Wanda remembered standing on the street outside their ruined building and looking at the street, the people wandering, their eyes lost and confused. Between one blink and the next, their world ripped in two, irrevocably changed.

The last words he’d said to her: _I am more durable than that. As are you._

She cried on the way back. She should have known better.

Wanda’s fingers felt naked, without the rings they’d taken from her. She tore at her cuticles instead, until they bled, until Clint caught her hands and held them and said  _stop it,_ and she looked at him and said,  _did you want this?_

He flinched, and immediately she felt guilty.

“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Me too.”

* * *

There was anger that beat under the heart of her grief. It was cold and ugly and felt like it could blossom into something horrible if she let it, felt like she wanted to find Thaddeus Ross and rip everything from him, take it all away and say  _how does it feel-_

_I am not an animal. I am not a thing. I am not a weapon._

Her family was still alive, mostly. But they were cracked. Natasha was gone, and Steve was hollow, and Sam didn’t smile. Clint stayed close, and Pietro closer, but their desperate nearness only made it clearer how broken they were.

She took up painting, to keep her hands busy. Her dreams were dark and full of thorns. She was huddled under the bed in their parent’s apartment, but this time it was all of them, and the bomb had her name on it. Wanda woke up curled up in a ball and weeping, Pietro holding her and stroking her hair, murmuring  _it’s all right, it’s all right_ without conviction.

When Ross was found dead, she was glad. She hoped it had hurt. She hoped he had felt helpless and afraid.

_Nothing grows from anger,_ her mother had said once, before she died (was killed, left her, was murdered). Wanda thought she was wrong. Something was growing from hers.


	5. something stronger than blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When things go wrong, they go wrong in just about every way they can. Bucky's point of view.

Well, he was alive. Which was about all he could say for this shitshow of a week.

The Wakandan doctors had given him something that numbed the nerves all the way down his left side, which at least meant he didn’t feel the throbbing pain where Tony  _fucking_ Stark had blown his arm off. The reason he was grounded, sending Steve off on his own to get everyone out of the hole Ross’d thrown them into.

Where Loki was, and Bucky couldn’t pretend that wasn’t most of what concerned him. Sam would be fine. He didn’t have much connection with the rest of them - Loki might like the Maximoff girl but she freaked him out some. Loki, though…Ross would want him dead. He was too unpredictable, too powerful, and too dangerous to leave alive.

Maybe Stark was right and Ross wouldn’t kill Loki out of fear of Thor. Maybe.

Didn’t seem like Stark had been right about much lately.

But there was a lot he could do, not with one arm gone and drugged half numb, not when as soon as he popped his own head up he was going to get it chopped off. So the best thing he could do was sit here and wait and  _pray._

Like praying had ever gotten him, or anyone, very far.

It sure didn’t this time.

* * *

Sam came and found him in the infirmary looking like he was going to start steaming. Bucky straightened, tensing. He looked in one piece, at least. Tired, a little beat up, but not like he’d been pistol-whipped, or water-boarded, or any of the other awful but non-fatal things that happened in an extrajudicial prison.

“What happened?” He asked. “Where’s Steve?”

“Steve is…” Sam trailed off, and Bucky’s stomach plunged. He started trying to shove himself up.

“Steve’s  _what?_ ”

“Don’t jump out of bed and fall on your face,” Sam said, more pissed off than worried. “He’s fine. Physically, anyway.” Sam looked over his shoulder, jaw flexing, and then turned back like he was making up his mind on something. “Loki’s dead.”

It took him a long second to process the words.

“Ross had him killed,” Sam said, when he didn’t say anything.

Bucky swallowed twice before he said, “are you sure?”

“Am I - yes, I’m  _sure._ I watched the video. They tied him down and gassed him and took his body away.” His voice was harsh. “Who the fuck knows where.” He stopped, checked himself, and said more moderately, “what happened to your arm?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said harshly. “They took his  _body?_ ” He struggled upright, trying to balance, compensating for the missing weight on his left side. “Where’s Steve,” he said again, less of a question this time.

“And what are you going to do?” Sam asked. “Fall on your face halfway there? Don’t. Steve doesn’t need anything else to go wrong.”

Bucky wanted to argue but he did feel shaky. Sick. He shouldn’t have run. Should have known Loki’d hit the end of his nine lives and wouldn’t get another chance. That Ross wouldn’t risk leaving him alive.

_Tied him down and gassed him._ If they’d used inert gases to do it at least there wouldn’t have been much pain, but they might’ve gone for something toxic instead just to be sure. That was always ugly. And painful. For Loki it’d probably taken a long time, too, since they wouldn’t have any way of calculating dose-

“I’m going to kill him,” Bucky heard himself say. It barely even sounded like his own voice.

“Who?” Sam asked. “Ross, or Stark?”

“Do I have to pick one?” He had that feeling now, the one he’d described to Loki: like a switch flipping. He was watching himself, seeing everything from a distance.

“Right now? I’d say neither,” Sam said. His voice was still hard and angry, angrier than Bucky had heard him. “Steve’s going to need all of us to keep him from folding.”

He remembered how Loki had kissed Steve before running, hard and almost desperate.  _He’d_ known, Bucky thought. Even if he hadn’t said, he’d known.

_Stupid fucking selfish bastard,_ he thought, suddenly furious.  _You saw this coming and you decided to do it anyway, decided it was worth ditching Steve-_

That wasn’t fair. He’d done it to save Steve. To save  _him._

And wasn’t that just the fucking  _pits._

* * *

Steve came to see Bucky. He looked wrecked, like he hadn’t slept in a week. He stopped in the doorway. “I guess you already know,” he said, voice dull.

“Sam told me.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. Bucky stared at him.

“ _You’re_ sorry? What the fuck for?”

Steve rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Probably because there’s nothing to apologize for.”

“Your arm…”

“I’ll live.” Maybe now was a bad time to use that particular phrase. Steve twitched and Bucky sucked in a breath. “This is all so fucked.”

“I shouldn’t have left.” Steve’s voice was small, barely audible. “I shouldn’t have left him there.”

“ _We_ shouldn’t have,” Bucky said harshly. “But either way, Steve, you’re not the one who killed him.”

“Just the one who let him die,” Steve said. His voice wobbled a little.

_Maybe he’s still alive,_ Bucky thought wildly.  _Maybe he faked it, or they did, or he just survived somehow and is slaughtering his way out now, it’d serve them fucking right,_ but he didn’t really buy it. He shunted his thoughts away from Loki, slammed the door hard, and focused on Steve.  _Steve’s going to need all of us to keep him from folding._

Looking at Steve now, he had the troubling feeling that train had already left the station.

* * *

They were losing him.

Steve tried to play it otherwise (of course he did; Steve had never learned how to lean on anyone else) but anyone with eyes could see that he was floundering, and neither he nor Sam nor anyone else seemed able to penetrate through the wall of guilt he’d put up.

Maybe the old Bucky would’ve known how to get through it, but he didn’t.

Some days Bucky was pissed at Loki for doing this to Steve. Mostly, though, he knew who he blamed. Ross and Stark were at the top of that list.

* * *

Steve was gone. He left a note:  _don’t worry about me. It’s better for me to keep my distance right now._ Asshole. Bucky was surrounded by selfless, selfish, assholes. He wanted to go running after Steve, grab him and shake him,  _you really think you’re protecting us, who are you protecting,_ or maybe grab him and hug him,  _you’re allowed to hurt, you’re allowed to be angry, you_ should  _be angry, it’d be better than chewing yourself to bits feeling guilty._

“No,” Sam said, when Bucky started to say it. “Leave him alone.”

“You know something I don’t?” Bucky asked. “What makes you think he’s not going out there to get himself killed?”

Sam shook his head. “Not his style. Or at least…” He let out a humorless sound. “He’ll want to talk to Thor first.”

A few days later Sam tracked him down with a look on his face like he’d bitten into an unripe lemon. Bucky stopped beating the punching bag - it was doing nothing for him, anyway. “What?”

“Guess who just called,” he said.

Bucky’s voice turned into a growl. “ _Ross?_ ”

“No,” Sam said. “Tony. Asking about Steve. Guess he’s having a case of buyer’s remorse.” Sam scowled at the wall. Bucky held very still, breathing carefully.

“Just bet he is,” he said.

“Yeah,” Sam said after a second, “you were probably the wrong person to bring this to, weren’t you.”

“It’s fine.” Bucky flexed his left hand, the metal one. Fresh and shiny vibranium, nice and fancy. The first thing he’d thought when it was back on was, for a half a second,  _better try it out sparring with,_ but he had a better memory than that.

He wanted to punch something. Someone. Punching bags couldn’t (try to) hit back.

“Yeah,” Sam said after another long pause. “Looks fine.”

Bucky made himself relax and turned toward Sam. “Does he know? About Loki?”

“He knows.” Sam exhaled and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. “What the fuck are we going to do?”

“You’re the leader here, aren’t you?” Bucky asked. “You figure it out.”

“Yeah. Thanks. Leader of what’s left of the Avengers, except we’re not Avengers anymore.” Sam scoffed. “Lucky me.” He tapped his foot on the floor and pressed his lips together. “You going to leave too?”

“Planning on it, yeah.” Sam just looked at him, and Bucky shrugged. “You guys are superheroes. I’m an assassin.”

A muscle jumped in Sam’s jaw. “I can’t just let you go off and murder someone.”

“Like they murdered Loki?” Bucky said. “Don’t worry. You’re not going to  _let_ me do anything. You’d have a hell of a time stopping me.”

“Barnes…”

“It’s not up to you,” Bucky said flatly. He and Sam stared at each other. He liked Wilson. Trusted him.

That didn’t mean Bucky was going to let him stop him.

“This what you think Steve would want you to do?” Sam asked.

“Dunno. He’s not here to ask, is he?”

“How’d that whole revenge trip go for you last time?”

Bucky’s stomach clenched. “Pretty well, actually.”

“Bucky…”

“Don’t,” Bucky said. “ _Don’t_ lecture me. Loki’s gone. Steve’s gone. How long do you think it takes before Ross comes after the rest of you? I’m not a  _good person._ Loki knew that. If he were here, if Ross had killed one of us…I guarantee you he wouldn’t still be alive.”

He shoved past Sam and out, walking fast. Halfway down the hall he realized he was holding a switchblade open in his hand. He stopped and looked at it.

The blade shimmered strangely and he could see markings etched on the side. He brought it up to his eye to look more closely.

_“For protection,” Loki said, green threads etching the metal. “For accuracy. For power.” And he grinned, looking proud of himself. “Not that you need more of any, James. But it never hurts to be ready.”_

_Click._ He flipped the knife closed.

Target acquired.

* * *

Bucky left Wakanda with a plane and the magic knife. The latter was his. The former was stolen.

He ditched it in the ocean off the coast of Labrador and snuck over the Canadian border. This was what he’d been good at, for years, and it was easy to remember all of it. Easier than remembering his own history, sometimes.

He knew where Ross lived, and while his wasn’t the only name on Bucky’s list he was definitely a good place to start. Divorced, lived alone. Complement of Diplomatic Security agents and state-of-the-art security.

Easy.

_No collateral damage. In and out like a knife in the gut. Won’t even know what’s hit him._

Except Bucky definitely wanted Ross to know who’d hit him.

So he wasn’t wearing a mask when he pinned him to the floor with a gun to his head and said, “this is for Loki.”

Ross opened his mouth, but Bucky shot out the back of his head before he could say a word.

He waited to feel something. Anything. Satisfaction, or guilt, or  _something._

He dropped the gun on the ground and walked out the front door.


	6. little and late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The news reaches Asgard, and the Allfather.

The hour that Loki died, Odin was in the middle of a council meeting.

It was not even a particularly important one. Some minor logistical questions about a land dispute case that could have been settled without his input. When he exited, Heimdall was waiting for him.

“There is news,” Heimdall said, a strange look on his face. “From Midgard.”

Midgard. That meant Loki, since Thor was otherwise occupied. And news of Loki seemed unlikely to be good. “What news?”

Heimdall hesitated. Only for an instant, but it was unusual enough that Odin still noticed, and felt a chill. “Might we speak somewhere more private?” He asked.

“And should I call Frigga, then?” Odin asked carefully. Heimdall shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I think that this should be news you bear to her alone.”

* * *

Odin sent Heimdall away and sat unmoving, alone.

Loki was dead. The Midgardians had killed him.

He had not dared ask for more details than that, though now that Heimdall had gone he wished that he had. Frigga would ask, and he would not have anything to tell her.

His thoughts were dull, sluggish.

The last words he’d spoken to Loki had been to pass sentence on him. The words of a king; a condemnation. He had declined to go speak to him, saying it was not the time (afraid of what vicious attack he might face). Distantly, he had thought that eventually things would change. Loki would forgive him. The banishment could not be rescinded, of course, but…

That chance was gone now. He’d lost his son a second time (or was it a third?) and he could not take any of it back.

_You should have gone to him_ , murmured a vicious voice in Odin’s mind.  _Should have offered your hand. You failed him._ It was so clear now, as it always was in the aftermath, all the things he should have done.

There were so many regrets to be had. And no forgiveness from the dead.

Damn Midgard, for stealing two sons from him.

Odin stood, feeling unbearably old. He needed to go to break his wife’s heart.


	7. lightning before the thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor returns to Asgard and learns the bad news.

Thor had been away from Asgard for months, chasing Infinity Stones, chasing word of Thanos, finding neither. When he returned at last, exhausted and frustrated, he knew at once that something was wrong. One look at Heimdall’s face, even before he spoke, and his blood went cold.

“What is it,” he said.

“Go to your mother,” Heimdall said simply. Thor’s blood ran colder, thinking at once of his father, the age he bore increasingly heavily. He didn’t ask further questions, letting Mjolnir carry him with speed to the palace.

Frigga met him on her balcony, her face drawn.

“Is it father?” Thor asked. She closed her eyes, just for a second.

“No,” she said. “No, your father is well.”

Thor’s heart started to pound.  _No,_ he thought.  _No._

“Come inside,” Frigga said. Thor did not move.

“Is it Loki,” he said, and thought  _tell me he is hurt, tell me he was gravely injured, tell me he is missing, just don’t tell me-_

His mother looked away. Her hands twisted together. “Thor,” she said. “Please come inside.”

“What happened,” Thor said, his voice starting to shake. “Mother, tell me what happened-”

“Your brother,” Frigga said, and then caught her breath, her eyes closed like she could not bear to keep them open. “Your brother is dead.”

“No,” Thor said, too loudly. “We thought before - we thought-”

“Thor, please,” Frigga said, her voice breaking, but Thor could not,  _would_ not. He would have known. He would have  _felt_ it, however far away. “The Midgardians, they…captured him, and killed him.”

_Midgardians. Killed him._ The rage filled him so there was no room for grief. Thor felt himself begin to shake. How dare they, how  _dare_ they–

The sky cracked open.  _No,_ he thought.  _No, it cannot be true. It’s a lie._

_Fate cannot be so cruel._

“Thor!” His mother shouted after him, but he did not turn back. He would find Steve, and Steve would tell him it wasn’t true, and this wound in the universe would be knitted back together (once again, how many times,  _how many times_ did he have to endure this pain).

He needed to know that his adopted Realm had not murdered his brother.

* * *

Steve looked like a man who had had his heart burned before his eyes. “Is it true,” Thor asked quietly, though he didn’t really need to. He could see it on his face, and the faint and bitter hope he’d been clinging to withered and died.

“What happened?” He asked, because he needed to know. Steve bowed his head, staring at his hands.

“A man named Ross,” he said. “He was working for the government. Trying to get control of the Avengers.” He paused, and Thor waited, holding himself still, because he needed to know everything before he moved. As though it would make a difference. As though it could matter.

“Something went wrong in - it doesn’t matter. It was an excuse. He wanted the Avengers under government control, and he knew about Loki and Bucky. Told us to hand them over. Implied ‘or else.’ Things went…Tony and I disagreed. We met to try to talk things through, but Ross interrupted. Loki told Bucky and I to go, to take care of…something else, it doesn’t matter. It wound up being nothing but a trap. But I left Loki there, and he got caught with the rest of them, and by the time I came back to get everyone out…”

“How did they catch him?” Thor asked, amazed by how calm his voice sounded. “How could they possibly manage to hold Loki-”

Steve wouldn’t look at Thor. “Apparently Tony dug some of Doom’s tech out of the ruins. Reverse engineered it. Disabled Loki’s magic, and then Vision took him down.”

_Tony dug some of Doom’s tech out of the ruins._ Tony Stark, his teammate, his companion. Using that monster’s tools. Using them to cripple Loki.

Vision, who he had helped create.

“Ross executed him in prison,” Steve said, his voice hollow. “He must’ve had the whole setup ready. Waiting.”

Thor did not know this man’s face, this  _Ross._ Could not picture it. But he could picture how his head would look when Mjolnir smashed it. No. He wouldn’t use Mjolnir. Bare hands.  _For my brother,_ he would snarl.  _For my brother._ He would sink this prison into the sea. He would find every hand that had touched Loki’s death and pour out their blood as an offering to Loki’s spirit. Loki’s spirit, which would not be able to find rest, because they had killed him like cowards.

Thor breathed. All this had been happening, and he hadn’t been here. Loki had been dying, and he’d been far away.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. The rage in Thor built up and spilled over. There was not room in him to contain it. There was not room on this Realm to hold his grief. He’d chosen this world, protected this world, loved it.

And it had murdered his brother. His brother, who had been piecing himself back together, slowly and painfully reassembling what had been broken, who had been fighting so  _hard_ to be good. To  _do_ good. And they had killed him, and condemned him to Hel.

He could barely hear Steve through the roaring in his ears. He left before he broke, and when the storm exploded out of him it cracked the sky in two.


	8. hold on, the war is coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor comes to find Steve and confirm the truth of what he's heard.

In the end, Thor didn’t come with a storm: he came in the wake of one.

He found Steve in New Guinea. At this point they were basically down to pulling out bodies, but that didn’t make it less important, and there was still plenty that needed to be done for the living. People who’d lost homes, work. Family.

It was this that Thor walked into, armor and all, seemingly oblivious to the stares.

“Steve,” Thor said. “Is it true?” His voice was soft, which caught Steve off guard. He stood up and turned. Some of the American volunteers were looking at him with sudden confusion and uncertainty.

“We should go somewhere else,” he said. This was what he’d been waiting for, but now that Thor was here all he felt was dread. He wondered who had broken the news. Had Thor gone back to the upstate facility and found it empty?

“It is, then,” Thor said, not moving. Steve walked over to him, away from his companions.

“Somewhere else,” he said. “Please.”

Thor just looked at him for a long, unblinking moment, then nodded.

Thor took them to a quiet place in the jungle, well away from anyone else. Steve could almost feel it in him: the humming rage just barely contained beneath his skin.

“It’s true,” Steve said, turning his back. He didn’t want to look at Thor’s face when he said it.

He could hear Thor breathing. “What happened?”

“A man named Ross,” Steve said. “Working for the government. He was trying to get control of the Avengers. Loki…” No, he couldn’t make this simple. Couldn’t hold anything back, and he didn’t really want to.

He told Thor everything. When he was done, Thor just stood there, too still.

“No,” he said quietly. “Impossible.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, the words strangling in his throat. “I didn’t…”

Thor shook his head. “It is impossible. I cannot believe…” He trailed off, and almost whispered, “and I was far away.”

Steve knew he should ask what had happened. What had kept him occupied for so long. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. “I was here,” he said, “and I didn’t stop it. I  _let_ him-”

Thor’s gaze focused, and Steve froze. There was something in his eyes, something almost…feral. “No,” he said. “Not you. If I believed you were responsible, you would not still be standing. As those who are will not be.” His voice was toneless, nothing of a roar in it, just the danger of a hurricane sky. “I will raze their holdings to the ground for this. For slaughtering my brother like an  _animal_ while they held him helpless.”

Steve remembered how Loki had looked at the end, seizing, bloody froth on his lips, and felt sick.  _You can’t,_ he should say.  _You shouldn’t._ But he couldn’t make the words come out. Some part of him, he realized, had been waiting for this. He didn’t have anything left in him for vengeance.

He’d known Thor would.

There was something despicable in that, and Steve hated himself for it.

“It’s not going to bring him back,” he said.

Thor’s gaze swung toward him. “You do not understand,” he said. “What they did to him.”

Steve stiffened. “I saw it happen. I  _watched the video_  because they  _recorded_ it, I watched Loki die-”

“I do not mean that,” Thor said, though Steve did not miss the tremor that ran through his body. “These men - they did not just kill Loki.” His jaw tightened. “Only the victorious dead find Valhalla. Those who fall in battle. Those who perish as Loki did receive no such reward.” Thor’s lips twisted. “These cowards, these -  _nothing-men,_ they condemned Loki to damnation.”

Steve’s stomach froze. “Thor,” he said faintly, “that’s…not literal. Right? It can’t be.”

“Every tale I know says otherwise.” Steve’s hair was starting to stand on end, and he took a step back. Thor did as well. “I must go. If I stay here…I will put all of you in danger.”

Steve’s heart sank. “I understand,” he said. “I can’t imagine…you’re going to want much to do with Earth.”

“No,” Thor said. “I do not. But I still have business here.”

He spun Mjolnir in rapid circles and shot skyward.

A moment later thunder exploded across the sky. Steve thought that in it he could hear a roar: an inhuman sound of fury and anguish.

Sleet began to fall, stinging Steve’s upturned face.

* * *

Steve left in a hurry after Thor’s departure, packing his bags and taking off to the other side of the world. He couldn’t sleep for the nightmares and watched the news when he could, afraid of the day he’d see news of the arrest of the fugitive Avengers, the capture of Bucky Barnes, another disaster that he should have stopped.

When Thor came to find him again he didn’t seem calmer, exactly. More focused, maybe. More contained.

He looked like he’d been weeping.

“This planet,” Thor said. “I gave it my love. My protection. And it killed my brother.”

Steve couldn’t argue. He looked down, guilt and shame squeezing his chest. He took a deep breath, lungs burning. “I’m sorry,” he said again. Thor’s hands gripped his shoulders.

“No,” he said. “I will accept no apology from you.”

“So that’s it,” Steve said heavily, looking away. He felt exhausted. Finally beaten. “You’re leaving.”

“No,” Thor said. “We are.”

Steve turned his head slightly. “Thor,” he said, “I can’t just…walk away. This is my home.”

“You are not walking away,” Thor said. His voice was heavy and grave. “Not forever.”

“Then…what? Where would we be going?”

Thor stood up and held out a hand. When Steve looked up at him, his jaw was set, determined, his eyes still red-rimmed but blazing with fire.

“We are going to Hel,” he said, “to get Loki back.”


	9. summer's gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor comes to find Tony and have a few words.

_“Unseasonable, record force storms still raging across the Western Hemisphere for the third consecutive week…”_

Tony turned the TV off, staring blankly at the black screen. Three weeks. Three weeks and he had a pretty clear idea what was causing the unusual weather, and all he really wanted to know was what the fuck Thor was waiting for. Unless maybe whoever’d broken the news had decided to be charitable and not mention Tony’s name anywhere in there, but he kind of doubted anyone was feeling charitable.

Maybe he was just giving Tony time to freak out and try to come up with a decent explanation that would keep him from getting his head smashed a la Victor von Doom.

Or maybe he was just upset enough that he hadn’t hit the point where he was looking for vengeance. Which was…a miserable thought.

_Coward. You should go talk to him. Explain…_

Explain what? What the fuck was he supposed to explain, how was he supposed to tell Thor that he was at least partly responsible for his brother being dead? That wasn’t the kind of thing you could just say  _sorry, my bad,_ about.

He was so fucking dead. And he was pretty sure there was nothing he could do to stop it.

* * *

Thirty days of flood conditions before the rain stopped.

On day thirty-one Thor arrived, announced by thunder overhead. He stood on the cliff overlooking the ocean, in full armor, lightning crackling on his skin and from his eyes. Tony squeezed his eyes closed, opened them, and considered putting on his armor.

He decided there wasn’t really much of a point and walked out.

“Thor,” he said. His voice sounded a little high-pitched. “Hey, buddy.”

Thor stayed silent. Tony shifted. He didn’t look human; didn’t look like the Thor Tony knew. He looked…elemental, even though he was no longer actively crackling. Terrifying, frankly.

Yeah,  _literal god_ was suddenly seeming very real.

“It’s…been a while.”  _Nice. What’s next,_ how’re things?

Still nothing. Thor’s expression was immobile.

“I’m…really sorry.”

_That_ got a reaction.

“You are  _sorry._ ” Thor didn’t roar. No, his voice was cold,  _ice_ cold in a way Tony wouldn’t think Thor was capable of. “That is what you have to say for yourself?”

Tony managed not to gulp. “I don’t know what else to say.”

“Then say nothing.” Thor towered over him, and Tony felt every inch of the way Thor was looking down at him. “My brother is dead because you gave him over to his enemies.” He took a step forward. “Because you had the perfidy, the  _cowardice,_ to use Doom’s foul witcheries against him.”

_Oh_ , Tony thought bitterly.  _They had to mention that part, too_.

“It was - complicated,” Tony said, taking a step back. “The situation was bad, I didn’t think-”

“You are supposed to be clever,” Thor said. “I do not believe you did not see where your actions led, unless you deliberately blinded yourself. I do not know which is worse.”

_Had_ he? No. He’d really, honestly believed Ross wouldn’t. That he’d heard Tony’s warning. That he’d  _listen._

“I called you my shield-brother,” Thor said, his voice low and flat. “I called you my friend.”

“Thor,” Tony said weakly, but he didn’t have a follow up. He’d been afraid Thor would just break him like a twig. This was worse.

“You betrayed me,” Thor said.

Anger flared up and Tony stiffened. “ _Hey._ You weren’t here, you don’t know what was going on-”

“You are right,” Thor said, and if possible his voice seemed to grow even colder. “I was not. If I had been, I would have stopped it. I believed better of you. I believed better of  _humanity._ And  _I_ am sorry to have been mistaken.”

He turned his back and Tony blinked.

“That’s it?” He said blankly. Thor turned. His lip curled in an expression that looked just plain  _wrong_ on his face.

“You would have me battle you?” He said, and the scorn in his voice was like a slap in the face. “You would have me strike you down? I spare you for two reasons: because, once, you fought by my side.” Thor turned away. “And because you are not worthy of dying an honorable death. I wish you the same fate you gave Loki, Tony Stark: to die helpless and alone.”

Tony felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “Thor, listen…”

“No,” Thor said. One word, but it had thunder in it. “No more words. No more excuses.”

“Loki knew the risks,” Tony started to say, desperate to defend himself, somehow. “He-”

It took Tony a moment to figure out why he was lying on the ground with his ears ringing. There was blood in his mouth and for a second he thought Thor had snapped and he was dying, but nope, definitely still alive. Thor had just backhanded him.

“Keep his name out of your mouth,” Thor said, and now there was a snarl in his voice as he towered over Tony, and nope, he wasn’t even going to think about getting up. “I do not doubt Loki knew he was risking his life. I do not doubt he made his choices in that knowledge. That does not absolve you.” Thor stepped back. “You are lucky I intend to leave this Realm. I find myself remembering old laws that urge the blood sacrifice of a murderer to appease the spirit of the dead.”

_Oh, Jesus._ Tony felt cold. He should say something.

There was nothing he could say.

“Begone, wretch,” Thor said, turning away again. “Crawl back to your den. I have spent enough breath on you.”

“Thor,” Tony said, desperate. “Wait.”

Thor didn’t even look back. Tony stared after him, lifting one hand to his swelling cheek. He felt a little like doing exactly as Thor had suggested and crawling back inside to curl up in a bottle of whiskey, but he didn’t quite feel like moving.

He reached for his phone and pulled up Pepper’s number, wanting, selfishly, to hear her voice.

_I wish you the same fate you gave Loki: to die helpless and alone._

He put his phone down and stared up at the blue, blue sky.


	10. the doors face north

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we check in on Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nerd alert! The title of this chapter comes from the Poetic Edda's description of Hel:
>
>> A hall I saw, | far from the sun,  
> On Nastrond it stands, | and the doors face north,  
> Venom drops | through the smoke-vent down,  
> For around the walls | do serpents wind.
>> 
>> I saw there wading | through rivers wild  
> Treacherous men | and murderers too,  
> And workers of ill | with the wives of men;  
> There Nithhogg sucked | the blood of the slain,  
> And the wolf tore men; | would you know yet more?

The moment they came for him Loki knew he wasn’t going to leave alive.

He surfaced from unconsciousness manacled to a chair by wrists and ankles both, another band of metal across his chest. Did they intend to torture him first, then? He would laugh in their faces. Mock their efforts. Goad them into a frenzy.

_Steve. Oh, Steve, I am sorry._

The lights in the room were blazing bright. It was small, contained, and hot: he could feel himself start to sweat. There was only one door and what looked like a mirror in front of him.

Loki suspected it was anything but. On the other side there would be eyes, watching. Ross, probably. He would want to see this. Would want to watch his monster die. He tilted his chin back and smiled.

_I am not afraid. Not of you. I accepted this. I knew that I was out of time._

Lurking underneath, though, was still the fear. Of oblivion, never-ending darkness, all-consuming  _nothing._ But he could not dwell on that. If he was going to die here -  _when_ he died here - it would be with pride. Not in battle, perhaps, but with pride nonetheless.

“You cannot bring yourself to look me in the eye when you kill me?” Loki said, because they’d left his mouth free. “What are you afraid of, Thaddeus Ross?”

He heard the hiss of something being released into the air. Just like in his cell before, but Loki suspected this was nothing so innocuous. So there would not even be a person to strike the killing blow, they would do it like this, like  _cowards_ hiding behind their glass, not even allowing him to see their faces-

_I will not show fear. I will show nothing. I will give them nothing._

He tried to picture Steve’s face. His smile. The warmth of his body and his gentle touch. He’d done well, in the end. Hadn’t he?

Maybe it would be enough.

He could see something like fog coalescing in the air in the corner of his eyes, and understood why the room was small. So it would fill quickly. Somehow, though, Loki doubted it would be quick.

_Do you fear pain? Even still?_

He locked his eyes on the glass again.  _You will pay for this. Someday, you will pay for this._ He clenched his hands into fists and locked his jaw so he wouldn’t scream.

This was the end. He’d known for some time that he would die young.

The first inhale burned in his throat and lungs. The second was worse.

From there, he lost track.

He’d been right. It did take a long time to die. As long as he could, though - until the convulsions started and consciousness began to bleed away - he kept his eyes on the glass, on where he knew Ross would be, watching. Savoring his victory.

_I hope you bleed,_ Loki thought, his second to last coherent thought before his mind snapped.

The last:  _I’m sorry, Steve, I’m sorry I couldn’t stay-_

Nothing.

* * *

Gray.

It took Loki several long, long moments to realize what he was seeing, because what he was seeing was…nothing. His thoughts swam, uncomprehending. He’d been dying. He had died.

Had Ross somehow dragged him back from the edge, shackled him to life - or half life, because he did not  _feel_ alive, did not feel  _anything,_ even the confusion dulled and fuzzy.

It took Loki several moments to realize that he was not breathing, and could feel no heartbeat in his chest. Another to realize that he was lying on his back, and yet another to feel the deep cold that seemed to have taken up residence in his core.

The sky - was it a sky? - was the color of a shroud. When Loki raised his hand slowly, his skin looked the same.

_Ah,_ Loki thought, staring at his hand the color of ash, the lines of his Jotun birth sketched out for all to see though there was no color to his flesh. No blue.  _So this is what death looks like._

He stayed where he was, staring up at that bleak sky, waiting for something that didn’t come. At length he sat up and got to his feet. Looking down at himself, he was wearing nothing but the simplest rags, his feet bare. Stretching out around him was - nothing. Gray, tendrils of something swirling like fog the only sign of motion.

Except for him.

Something coiled dully through his chest, a mixture of misery and amusement. This was a better Hel than all the torture a macabre imagination could devise. Eternal emptiness. Nothingness but without the mercy of oblivion. Could the dead go mad?

If they could, it might be merciful.

Loki took a step forward and cried out, pain stabbing through his foot. He looked down to see that the ground had become a nest of thorns, one spearing right through his foot, thick and black and ugly. He yanked himself free, expecting blood, but there was no hole, no wound, just lingering pain.

There was a small patch of clear ground around him. If he stood here forever, he would be fine.

The next time he took a step forward, though, it didn’t hurt as much. The step after that hardly hurt at all. He didn’t know where he was going, or why, but he had the feeling there was something he was supposed to be journeying toward.

Or maybe he just wanted there to be, so it wouldn’t be this endless, empty, nothingness.

As a child he’d believed in afterlives. In the magnificent halls of Valhalla and the bleak plains of Hel. After the Void, he’d believed that death meant nothingness. Meant eternal oblivion, and he’d thought that was better. Valhalla was unreachable, after all. He’d prefer to simply wink out and become nothing than dwell in dreary mists for eternity until he forgot his name, forgot everything and became nothing but a nameless shade, drifting.

Loki was disappointed to be wrong.

He saw something ahead of him, through the strange, grey dimness. Like a rock, with a dead tree hanging over it. He directed his footsteps toward it because it was something rather than nothing, but when he reached it all he felt was a strange sense of disappointment.

_What did you expect,_ he thought, and sat down, leaning his back against the stone. He imagined feeling the cold granite leaching heat from his body. Heat he didn’t have.

He wondered if Steve knew, yet. Had he freed the others? How did Wanda fare?

_The matters of the living no longer concern you._

He wondered what Ross had done with his body. He was probably taking it apart, even now, a butcher parceling out prize cuts of meat. Loki examined that thought with slight distaste that felt duller than it should be.

He hoped Steve didn’t have to see that. Or anything. He hoped Steve would simply hear that he was dead, would mourn, would move on. He was afraid Steve would not. That he would blame himself.

The others would take care of him. Keep him safe, and sane. In time, memory would fade.

Apparently he could still feel enough for that thought, selfishly, to hurt.

Loki curled into himself, wondering where all the other dead were. Or were they all around him, each of them alone in their own isolation?

Loki wondered how long it would take him to forget. He hoped, for mercy’s sake, that it would be quick.


	11. this is no forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve circles back to Tony looking for some help.

The last thing Tony was expecting on a Tuesday afternoon was to come back home from another shitty, shitty meeting with the new US branch of enforcement for the Sokovia Accords to Steve Rogers sitting in his living room. He had a beard now. And was wearing plainclothes. And if his expression was stony he didn’t look like he was planning murder, or anything. Not that Tony’d  _really_ thought Steve was going to kill him. That wasn’t a Steve thing to do.

Just, you know. Maybe he’d make an exception.

Of course, Steve also looked exhausted and like all the good feelings had been beaten out of him, but Tony was just going to leave that one alone.

“Hey,” Tony said after a second, stopping dead in the doorway.

Steve stood up. “We need to talk.”

“We do?” Tony said. “You said I wasn’t supposed to get in touch with you. Nice little note, remember-”

“Shut up, Tony,” Steve said. Not wearily, or angrily, or anything. Just sort of…flat. Yep, still pissed.  _Did you really think he wouldn’t be? You sort-of-killed his boyfriend._ “Nothing’s changed. You gave Loki to Ross, and Ross killed him. I don’t really care if you actually believed he wouldn’t, or if you were just lying to yourself, or if you were lying to me. Loki still died because you made a choice based on fear and guilt.”

Tony stiffened. “That isn’t fair-”

“I said, shut up,” Steve said. “I’m not here to listen to you make excuses, Tony. I’m here because you’re going to help me and Thor fix your mistake.”

“I’m flattered, Steve,” Tony said flatly, though his skin prickled at the mention of Thor. He still didn’t quite believe he wasn’t going to try to smash some important part of his body. “But I can’t just unwrite the Sokovia Accords.”

“I’m not talking about the Sokovia Accords,” Steve said. “I’m talking about Loki.”

“You’re - what?” Tony said blankly. Steve looked completely sane. Pretty much.

“Loki,” Steve said. “You’re going to help us get him back.”

“Back,” Tony said. “So he’s…not dead?” Relief washed through him, almost overpowering. Steve had  _said…_ he’d said ‘killed.’ But maybe ‘killed’ didn’t mean the same thing for aliens, or some fucking thing-

“No,” Steve said, and his voice suddenly went rough and almost wobbly. “He’s dead.”

Tony stared at him. Still looked sane. “I’m not Dr. Frankenstein,” he said after a second. “You know that, right?”

“No,” Steve said. “I know. But you do have the most powerful energy tech on the planet that can be used the way we need.”

“Which is…what, exactly?” Tony asked.

Steve’s expression hardened. “Getting Loki out of Hel.”

Tony sat down, hard. “What?”

* * *

Tony’d really thought he’d heard that wrong. Turned out that he had not.

“You’re insane,” he said. Steve didn’t respond. “There’s no such thing as - as  _Hell._ Or even if there is, it’s not like it’s somewhere you can just walk to.”

“Thor says otherwise,” Steve said. “I’m inclined to believe him.”

“Thor’s -  _grieving,_ Steve. He  _wants_ to believe that, that’s no reason to think he’s right-”

“Tony,” Steve said, “I really, honestly,  _don’t care_ what you think about the feasibility here. I’m giving you a chance to fix what you did. You say no? Fine. I’ll figure something else out. But don’t expect me to help you if you need it down the line.” He paused. “I don’t want to be here. It was Thor who said we should give you a chance.”

That felt a little like a one-two punch to the chest. “Huh,” he said, a little weakly. “That’s…nice of him.” Steve said nothing. “Fuck,” Tony said. “I need a drink.”

“Yes or no,” Steve said. “I don’t want to waste any more time here than I have to.”

“Jesus, Steve,” Tony said. His expression smoothed out, and he jerked his head in a nod.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, and started walking toward the door. Tony stood quickly and reached out.

“Hold on, wait,” he said, grabbing Steve’s arm. He tensed, but didn’t pull away, or punch Tony in the face, like he’d half expected. “I’ll - shit. I can’t believe I’m saying this. I’ll do it.” He swallowed. “Not - not for  _him._ For you. Whatever I think…thought…about him…I’m sorry, all right? I thought it’d be fine. I didn’t want  _you_ to get hurt. I was just trying to do the right thing.”

Steve just looked at him, expression unreadable. Which was…Steve didn’t do that. That  _blank_ shit, walling everything off. Except apparently he did now. “You say you didn’t want me to get hurt,” he said, “but I guess you didn’t care about anyone else. What about Wanda? Or Pietro? What about Clint’s family? Did you think about what might happen to Sam?” His jaw shifted. “Did you think -  _really_ think - that Ross would let Loki live?”

He had. He hadn’t, but he’d figured it wasn’t his responsibility. Tony didn’t know. “Steve-”

“I don’t care why you’re agreeing,” Steve said. “As long as you carry through with it.”

“You know if this works,” Tony said, his voice a little thin, “Loki’s going to try to kill me.”

“I hope he’s in the condition to try,” Steve said. Tony flinched. “Don’t worry,” Steve went on, his voice sarcastic. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt you.”  _Like you didn’t._ He didn’t say it aloud. He didn’t need to.

He pulled his arm away. “I need to go tell Thor. I’ll call you.”

“I can tell Thor myself,” Tony said. “I want to-”

“No,” Steve said. “Thor doesn’t want to talk to you right now.”

Tony swallowed. “I thought you said he was the one who wanted to give me a chance.”

“He was,” Steve said. “That doesn’t mean he forgives you.”

He turned his back and walked out, closing the door quietly behind him. Tony stared after him. His chest…Jesus, his chest hurt. He was pretty sure it wasn’t a heart attack. Pretty sure.

_What the fuck did you just agree to?_

Bringing Loki back from the dead. He was actually going to  _help -_ bring him back. That was fine. Possible. Not insane, not likely to end horribly.

This was - good. A chance to, like Steve said, fix something. He  _hadn’t_ meant for Loki to die. (He was pretty sure.) And if he could help with this, it’d…fix things. Mend fences with Steve, with Thor.

It’d be enough.

Right?


	12. the earth below my feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor, on the road to hell.

In Thor’s dreams, he smashed through walls, tore his way to the heart of the prison and freed Loki with his bare hands. Loki looked at him and laughed.  _I knew you would come, brother,_ he said, but there was relief bright in his eyes.

And then he woke and Loki was dead.

His companions still slept. Thor contemplated waking Steve, but decided to leave him to whatever rest he could find. He stood and walked away, looking up at the strange greyish-green sky.

He had made Steve tell him everything that he knew. He almost wished he had not; he had not sought out the recording he knew existed, the footage of Loki’s death dispassionately documented. It was enough to know that the cowards had stripped Loki’s magic from him, caged him, suffocated him. Thor doubted they had treated his body with any more respect.

A chill crackled through him and Thor caught himself, held it until he calmed. It didn’t matter. They were going to find him. They were going to bring him back.

He knew what Loki would say, if he knew what they were doing.  _This is madness. No, worse, this is pure stupidity. No one has ever succeeded-_

_Then we will be the first,_ Thor thought, as he had many times to that voice in his mind.  _Death cannot have you._

“Thor?”

He turned, steeling his expression. Tony twitched like he wanted to jerk back but held his ground. Thor had to give him this: he was brave. He’d agreed to help, and he hadn’t wavered. And while it was clear he was struggling, both to keep up and with being shut out, he did not complain.

Thor still wondered if he would ever look at his former friend again without wondering how much he had known of Loki’s fate. He wanted to ask:  _if you knew then what you know now, would you have still sent him there?_ But he was afraid of the answer. He did not want Tony’s blood on his hands, even now.

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Is something…” Tony broke off, and laughed, awkwardly. “I was gonna say ‘wrong’ but I guess that’s…obvious.” Thor did not offer to fill the silence. Tony rubbed his face with his hands and glanced over at Steve, then stood up and walked over to Thor.

“I am not interested in making conversation,” Thor said.

“Didn’t get the feeling you were.” Tony paused, but he didn’t stay quiet for long. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Nowhere,” Thor said. “A little pocket of reality between dimensions. They form, sometimes.”

“A pocket of reality? Between dimensions?” Tony made a strangled sound. “You can’t just throw that out there and then not tell me anything. How do they form? Why? How many are there? What the hell does that even  _mean?_ ”

There were answers Thor could give him, but his mood was black enough that he simply said, “such was the sort of thing Loki studied when we were younger.”

Tony fell silent. Thor almost felt guilty. Almost.

“We’re going to get him back,” Tony said abruptly.

“Yes,” Thor said. “We will.” He wouldn’t let himself consider the alternative.

“If there’s anyone who can come back from the dead, it’s gotta be your brother,” Tony said.

“Loki is strong,” Thor said. He didn’t turn. “For instance: Steve told me that he asked Loki to hold back, if it came to a fight. I understand why he would: we were taught to kill rather than subdue. A part of me cannot help but wish that Steve had said nothing.”

Tony hissed out a breath. “Thor,” he said, pained.

Thor shook his head. “Until Loki lives again,” he said, “until I can hear my brother breathe and feel his heartbeat, I would advise against your offering platitudes about our success.”

“I’m trying to  _help,_ ” Tony said.

“No,” Thor said. “You are trying to fix the mess that you made, so that Steve and I will forgive you. You care not at all about Loki. I suspect what weighs on you most is your own guilt. I will offer nothing to alleviate that burden.”

“I don’t know how many times I can say I’m sorry,” Tony said, a note of unhappy frustration in his voice. Thor did not look at him.

“At least one more,” he said coldly. “I am going to wake Steve. We should keep moving.”


	13. death moving upon my soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They find Loki.

Steve hadn’t known what to expect from death.

If pressed, he probably would have said something like the Biblical descriptions of fire and brimstone, based on Thor’s dread of the prospect of Loki’s being there. At first he was almost relieved to find that there was no fire or brimstone to be seen - not much of anything, in fact. Just grey fog and grey skies, the two almost blending into each other, sound strangely muffled. He, Thor, and Tony were the three brightest things there, seemingly alone in the world.

They were close. So close. And Steve wouldn’t let himself contemplate the possibility of failure. Loki was here, somewhere, and they were going to find him.

“This is…bleak,” Tony said. Trying to break the unsettling silence, Steve suspected, but his voice seemed to fall like a rock into dead air. Thor’s hair fluttered in a wind Steve couldn’t feel.

“Which way?” Steve asked Thor.

“I don’t know,” Thor said. “I don’t know that it matters. This isn’t a place like Midgard or Alfheim. This is…something else.”

“Well,” Tony said after a beat, “at least in all this Loki’s gotta stand out, right?”

Steve glanced at him, briefly. He’d done his best to stay cordial. Or at least polite. Or at least…

He knew he wasn’t doing very well. He didn’t particularly want him here. He thought he could understand why Tony had asked, though, and he could have a little sympathy for that.

“Hopefully,” he said, after another moment, and set off. Let them find Loki soon. Let him be - not  _all right_ but  _good enough._

Even if he wasn’t - even if he wasn’t, Steve told himself, that wouldn’t matter. As long as they got him back. Loki was strong. He’d heal, whatever…damage had been done. They’d get him out and he’d get better.

They walked. And they didn’t go far before Steve began to change his mind.

Something was sapping his energy. He could feel it, like the mist was pulling strength out of him as he went. The grey, the sheer expanse of  _nothing,_ began to feel oppressive. And the sheer  _silence…_ Steve hadn’t realized how much background noise there was in the world, even when it was quiet, until there was nothing at all.

The first time he saw a faint blur of shadow his heart leapt, but it formed into a dead tree, branches withered. Steve imagined there was something skeletal about it, but maybe that was just his imagination.

“What  _is_ this place?” Tony asked.

“Where the dead go,” Thor said. “Or at least Asgard’s. Those who do not die well.”

“What does that even mean,” Tony muttered under his breath, but Thor stopped, turning toward him.

“Those who die by base treachery, for instance,” he said coldly, “Such that they are killed like animals instead of men.”

Tony blanched and looked away. He glanced at Steve and then quickly away. “Right,” he said, voice tight. “Point taken.”

A place like this, Steve thought, could suck someone’s soul dry. It already felt like it was sucking his. “Where is everyone?” He asked, hushed, like he needed to speak softly or someone would hear.

“I don’t know,” Thor said. “Perhaps the mist…” He trailed off.

“Oh, shit,” Tony said, and Steve’s skin crawled. But - Loki. How were they going to  _find_ him if he wasn’t…

His heart skipped a beat. He’d never considered the possibility that whatever was left of Loki wouldn’t look like  _Loki._ Wouldn’t be recognizable, or separable.

There was another smudge on the horizon. Steve turned and headed toward it, because at least it was a landmark: a large stone, he realized as he got closer.

And curled up next to it, as grey as everything else here-

Steve stopped, cold rushing down his spine. His heart skipped a beat, not trusting his own eyes. No: scared to trust his own eyes. “Thor,” he said, hushed. “Do you see…”

“Yes,” he said. Steve sucked in a breath and just kept himself from running.  _Don’t hope,_ he thought viciously.  _Don’t hope, don’t-_

“Loki?” He called, unable to help himself. The figure leaning against the rock didn’t stir, and Steve slowed. “Loki,” he said more cautiously, holding his breath as he drew close, circled around where he could see his face.

It was him.

_God,_ it was him. His eyes were closed. He hadn’t been able to see from the angle before, but he looked translucent, substanceless, and Steve pulled back from reaching out, almost afraid to touch. He was perfectly still, not even breathing - of  _course_ not breathing. He didn’t  _look_ hurt.

Steve extended his hand slowly toward his shoulder. It passed  _through_ and Steve pulled back fast; the form of Loki’s body swirled momentarily like mist about to melt away and Steve’s heart leapt into his throat, but he reformed slowly.

He heard Thor make a choked sound behind him.

“I can’t touch him,” Steve said. “And he won’t…he doesn’t seem to hear me.”

Did time pass differently, here? How long had it been? How long had Loki been alone in this oppressive, grey, wasteland, alone.

It occurred to Steve that maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe this  _was_ hell. For Loki. Alone with only the company of his own mind, nothing to focus on, nothing to distract, the most solitary of confinements. He’d go insane in days. Weeks? Months?

_It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, he’s here, we’re going to get him back._

Tony was silent. Steve wondered if he’d really expected them to get this far, but then he said, “there’s a theory that, uh. Ghosts are just energy. Leftover. Maybe that’s…what he needs. Some kind of recharge.”

Steve looked at Thor, who shook his head. “I can’t call a storm here. There’s nothing to call.”

“I left my spare arc reactor at home,” Tony said. “Maybe a repulsor blast would…”

“Or it’d blow what’s left of him away,” Steve interrupted. He remembered what it had looked like, just his hand going through Loki’s shoulder. His face was set in a heartbreakingly familiar frown. So still. Like he was no more than a statue.

Steve reached out again, stopping just short of touching him. “Loki,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Please.”

His eyes opened slowly, like he was waking from deep dreaming. They looked glassy, dull, and Steve felt like weeping.

“Hey,” he said roughly.

Loki blinked. He opened his mouth, but Steve couldn’t hear any sound.

“Fuck, that’s eerie,” Tony breathed. Steve wanted to shout at him.

“Hey,” he said again. “It’s okay.”

“I dreamed of you,” Loki said, and his voice was strange, like it came from a long ways away. “I dreamed that I died for you.”

Steve felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Loki didn’t sound upset, or angry. If anything, he just sounded tired.

“Loki,” Thor said lowly, voice rough. “Do you not remember us?”

“I think I loved you,” Loki said, still sounding so far away. “But I am trying not to remember.”

“You can remember now,” Steve said, trying not to choke on the burning in his throat. “We’re going to get you out of here.”


	14. the long road back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's back, but all is not mended. Not even close.

So. They were back.

They were back, and Loki was here, right next to him, asleep - maybe asleep, maybe unconscious, it was hard to tell. Steve didn’t know exactly what had happened and he didn’t really care. All that mattered was that Loki was alive. Steve had felt his heart beating, watched his chest rise and fall.

He wasn’t all right. Steve knew that already. If he hadn’t guessed, the fact that Loki’s brief period of consciousness had mostly involved screaming would’ve disillusioned him fast. But that wasn’t surprising, was it? You walked through death and of course you came out the other side changed, but that was fine, it was fine as long as Loki was here they could - he could make it right.

Steve touched his face. He felt slightly too warm, maybe a little feverish.

He’s here, Steve kept having to remind himself. He’s here, this is real, we did it. Some part of him was still reluctant to believe it. Like the moment he started he’d wake up and find out he’d been dreaming, like he had for months.

His eyes burned but he kept them open, refusing to look away.

The door opened and Steve didn’t look up. “Get out.”

“Hello to you too. How did you know who it was? What if I’d been a nurse?”

Steve turned his head, but barely. “What do you want?”

“Just…checking in.” Tony wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. “Seeing how you’re…doing. How he’s doing.”

“Surprised you’re bothering,” Steve said shortly. He saw Tony wince and almost felt bad. But not quite.

“Hey,” he said, something a little sharper in his voice. “I hauled ass into literal Hell with you guys to drag him out. I at least want to know that it worked.”

“He’s here, isn’t he?” Steve said. He wasn’t going to mention his worries, that Loki might be physically present but he was never going to recover, never going to be himself again, might be just a shell of the man Steve loved. The fear, secretly, that he’d made a terrible mistake bringing Loki back at all.

“Sure, but…” Tony trailed off. “Jesus. Is he, you know, okay?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said. He could hear how tight his voice sounded and couldn’t make himself moderate it. “I don’t have a better answer than that, Tony, so if you want reassurance that everything’s all better now, I can’t give it to you.”

“Steve…”

“Don’t,” Steve said. “You helped us, sure, but I’m not going to forget that Loki wouldn’t’ve been there in the first place if it weren’t for you.”

Loki stirred, a little, and Steve saw Tony’s hand twitch toward the button on his watch. He stood up and took a step forward so he was blocking the doorway, planting his hand against it.

“I think you should leave.”

“You have to know that Loki…he’s going to be fucked up.”

Steve managed not to twitch. “Probably.”

Tony hesitated, and Steve knew what he was going to say before he said it. “He could be dangerous.” Steve felt his jaw tighten and tried to take a deep breath even as iron bands squeezed his lungs. “People - he could be confused, lash out at you-”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“It’s not just you I’m worried about,” Tony said. “Steve, you have to know we’ve gotta lock him down, just to be safe-”

On the back of his eyelids, a video. Loki bound to a chair, Loki struggling, Loki dying.

He saw red.

“Shut up, Tony,” Steve said. “I don’t have to know a damn thing, except that you’ll back off if you know what’s good for you.”

Tony blinked, looking genuinely taken aback.

“That’s why Ross killed him, wasn’t it?” Steve said harshly. “Just to be safe?”

The color drained out of Tony’s face. “I’m not suggesting-”

“I didn’t think you were,” Steve said flatly. “But I’ll be damned if I let anyone lock Loki away again. As soon as he’s stabilized, we’re leaving.” If he does. If he doesn’t just stay like he is now, caught somewhere in between life and death.

“Dammit, Steve,” Tony said, his frustration audible. “I’m trying, here. Isn’t there anything I can do-”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “And you did it. Now you can keep your distance.”


	15. down to the bone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming back from the dead isn't easy. Loki and Tony have their first conversation after his death, and Loki struggles with feeling alive.

Loki breathed.

Eyes closed, sitting upright, shutting out everything else but the motion of his lungs: inhale, exhale, inhale, and if he walled out everything else he could almost feel like a whole person again. Not like there were bits and pieces of him missing, left behind in his rebirth.

He wondered if Steve knew how deep his brokenness ran.

He hoped he didn’t. Steve deserved a victory. Or at least deserved to believe he had one. But Steve was clever, and knew him too well: if he didn’t see it yet, he would soon.

_Stop thinking. Just breathe._ It felt strange, like using someone else’s lungs.

_The dead don’t come back to life. So what are you?_

The hair on the back of Loki’s neck stood on end and he stopped breathing. It was easy to hold still, listening: without the distraction of the sound of his own breathing he could hear theirs, the shuffle of footsteps, the pause, the clearing of his throat.

Loki made himself start breathing again before he started to feel light-headed.

“I know you know I’m here.”

_Inhale. Exhale._ “The fact that I haven’t reacted to that information might tell you something, if you let it.”

“Let’s say I can’t take a hint.”

“Hypothetically,” Loki murmured. He pressed the thumb of his right hand into the palm of his left. The gesture felt familiar, and yet when he actually did it, strange. Someone else’s hands. Someone else’s lungs.

“Hey. Rude.” Loki said nothing. There was something twisting in his chest, deep inside his frozen core. “I thought we should…talk. Maybe.”

“Did you.” He straightened his fingers and opened his eyes, looking down at his hands. He noticed they were trembling.

“Yeah. The unresolved tension is killing me.”

A thin, small laugh squeezed its way out of Loki’s chest. “Turnabout is fair play. Your  _unresolved tension_ killed me, after all.”

He heard a sharp exhale. A blow struck home. Loki could not help but feel vaguely satisfied. “I didn’t mean-” He started over. “I honestly didn’t think he would. Which - okay, maybe that was short-sighted of me.”

The thing in his chest rose up into his throat. Loki swallowed it back down.

“So…”

“Is this an apology?” Loki asked. “You are sorry for getting me killed, is that it?”

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, sounding almost defiant. “I am.”

Loki laughed, soft and bitter. “If you want me to tell you that you are forgiven, you will be waiting a long time. Or are you hoping I will tell Steve to forgive you? Or Thor?”

“That’s not - Jesus Christ.” He sounded indignant, now. Defensive. “I don’t want anything. I’m just trying to be a decent person, all right? I helped-”

“Bring me back. I know.” He curled his hands into fists and dug his nails into skin. “And now you are trying to figure out what to do with me. Do I make you nervous more because I am no longer dead or because I was?”

“You’re making me  _nervous_ because I don’t know if you’re going to snap and decide to murder me.”

_Inhale, exhale. Your stranger’s lungs filling with air, pressing it out. Muscle flexes, relaxes._ Loki unfolded his legs and stood, turning to look Stark in the eye.

“You want to know,” he said. “You want to know if I am going to tear out your throat with my bare hand. If I am going to slice you open like a fish and leave you flopping on the floor.” Stark’s face had gone pale. Loki blinked slowly. “You want to know if I am, perhaps, going to replace the air inside your lungs with poison, burning you from the inside out until you choke on bloody froth, your body seizing. The pain would be excruciating. You’d be fortunate: it would only take a couple of minutes for you to die.”

Stark swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “That’d…be the kind of thing it’d be nice to know.”

“No,” Loki said. “I will not.”

Stark only looked more unnerved. “That’s…good.” He didn’t leave. “I am,” he said eventually. “I’m…sorry. Shit. That sounds…” He shifted. “I saw the video.”

_The video._ Something in Loki’s gut froze. Of course they’d recorded his death. Anger and nausea roiled in him and he found himself saying, “did you find it satisfying?”

Stark almost recoiled. “No,” he said. “ _Fuck_ no, I didn’t, what do you think I am-”

“I think you are the person who bound me in chains stolen from a sadistic madman and sent me to my executioner,” Loki said. His voice vibrated slightly and he held his breath, focusing on the heaviness of his body, the prickle of air on his skin, the slow, dull, thud of his heart.

Whatever Stark saw on his face, it made him take another step back. “Loki,” he said, sounding cautious. “Should I…get someone?”

Loki felt his lips curl. “Can you get the pieces of myself that were lost while I was dead?”

Stark said nothing. Loki turned his back and walked to the window. He pressed his forehead against the glass, focusing on the rigidity of it, the coolness on his skin.  _You are here. You are alive, or something like it._

_You exist._

He didn’t hear Stark leave. He didn’t realize that he was crying until he licked his lips and tasted salt.


	16. land mines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor tries to help. It's not going all that well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning this chapter for self harm.

The most important thing, Thor reminded himself over and over again in those first nightmarish days, was that Loki was alive.

Alive, if not well, but the greatest barrier had been surmounted and for all Loki was struggling at least he was  _here_ to struggle.

Still, it was hard: listening to Loki scream at the lightest of touches, flinch from light, push away food that smelled too strong (which was almost everything). It hurt, seeing him like this. But at least, at  _least_ he was alive.

The rest could (would,  _had to_ ) mend.

* * *

Once he could tolerate the touch of blankets, Loki could not get enough of them.

He swaddled himself in them, huddled in a nest of two or three with his shoulders hunched like he was cold and could not get warm. “Are you cold?” Thor asked, once, and Loki looked at him for a moment like he didn’t understand the question.

“I don’t know,” he said. His words still came strangely, like he was trying to remember them. “I can’t tell what it is I feel.”

Thor reached out only to stop himself before he touched Loki. “I don’t want you to overheat,” he said. “If you can’t tell what you’re feeling…”

“I can tell,” Loki said. “But I don’t know what it is.” Thor frowned, and Loki shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t understand.”

Thor wanted to embrace Loki. To crush him to his chest and hold him there and never let him go (except, perhaps, for Steve to do the same). And he could not, not without panicking his brother. It was a selfish wish, and yet he could not let it go.

“I am so tired,” Loki murmured, his head bowing forward.

“Then rest,” Thor said, though he felt more than a twinge of worry. Loki slept so often, and Thor wondered if there was more to it than just the weariness of his trials. If he slept to avoid being awake.

How would he know? Loki kept his thoughts so much to himself. He always had, and now even more.  _Talk to me,_ Thor wanted to beg.  _Tell me what you are thinking. Let me help you._

But he didn’t dare.

“Thor,” Loki said suddenly. “Is this real?”

“Yes,” Thor said. “ _Yes._ It’s real. I am real.”

Loki sagged with what looked like relief. “I am not always sure,” he said. “How many times can I lose my mind until there is nothing left?”

Thor could not stop himself. He reached out and took Loki’s wrist in hand (thin, too thin, he needed to eat more). “Feel this,” he said. “Feel  _me._  You are here, Loki. You are  _here._ ”

He was. He was here, and Thor was immeasurably grateful for that, and yet could not help but wish for more and ache for how much of his brother had been stripped away.

He wished there were still people for him to kill. Or that killing them would fix this. But he knew it would not.

* * *

Thor noticed the faint lines etched on Loki’s skin, down the inside of his arm, and felt his stomach sink.

“What are those,” he asked, gesturing, and Loki looked up from the book he was reading (or pretending to read - Thor had not seen him turn a page for some time) and blinked at him.

“What?”

“Those,” Thor said. “On your arm.” He could hear the tension in his own voice. Loki glanced down and frowned slightly.

“Oh,” he said. “That.”

Thor held back the urge to growl. “Yes,” he said. “ _That._ Loki…”

“It isn’t what you think,” Loki said. “Not a blade, or anything so sharp. Just…” He demonstrated. Pressing his thumbnail into skin and drawing a line hard enough to raise a welt. It didn’t seem enough to leave a mark, but repeated over and over again…

Thor shook his head. “You still shouldn’t do it.”

“It helps,” Loki said, turning his arm so it was hidden from Thor’s view, like that would make him forget.

“What does?” Thor asked, hearing the brassy fear slip into his voice. He didn’t try to stop it. “The pain?” Maybe it started like this. Maybe it got worse. Maybe Loki lost control one day and slipped away again, like he always seemed to-

“Yes,” Loki said, hatefully calm. “It’s grounding.”

“Don’t-” Thor took a deep, shaky breath. “ _Please._ Don’t hurt yourself.”

Loki looked at him for a long moment and then said, “I am already hurting.”

“What?”

“It hurts all the time, Thor,” Loki said. He sounded tired. “My body aches. My skin doesn’t seem to fit. I feel like a puzzle poorly put together, pieces jammed haphazardly into place. Sometimes I forget to breathe. Sometimes this form…feels like a stranger’s.” Loki closed his eyes and seemed to draw himself inward. “My last memories are of suffering - suffocating, my throat filling with blood. Then the fog, and now…at least I can have control of this pain.”

Thor’s throat seemed to have closed. He swallowed hard several times. “I didn’t know,” he said hoarsely.

“I know,” Loki said, not looking at him. “I haven’t told you. Or Steve. I can live with it. Have lived with worse.”

Thor’s eyes burned. “We could try to find a healer…”

“I died, Thor,” Loki said. “I do not know that there are any healers for those who come back from Hel. I do believe I am the first.” His voice sounded strange, distant.

“Please,” Thor said after a moment. “ _Please,_ Loki. Don’t do this.”

Loki’s shoulders slumped. “Then what am I meant to do, Thor?”

 _I don’t know. I don’t know how to help you and that terrifies me._ “Come to me,” he tried. “Or go to Steve. We can help you find another way. And maybe - maybe it will get better.”

“Maybe,” Loki said, though he sounded doubtful.

“Will you promise?” Thor asked. “Not to hurt yourself?”

“Very well, Thor,” Loki said, sounding weary. “I will not hurt myself.”

Thor slumped, bowing his head forward and wishing again that he could embrace Loki and hold him there. This was not an enemy he could fight for his brother. Or at the least, he didn’t know how.

But he would try. One day at a time.


	17. pet therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki reunites with Váli. It helps.

Ten days after they’d brought Loki back, and he still spent most of his time sleeping. On the seventh day, the night terrors had started: thrashing, screaming horrors it was almost impossible to wake him from. By the way he eventually did wake, gasping for air and clutching at his chest, Steve didn’t have to wonder what he was dreaming of.

_Of course he’s hurting,_ Steve told himself.  _No one could come back from what he has unscathed. It takes time._

But he could admit, at least in the privacy of his thoughts, that he was scared. Loki had endured so much and not broken. But maybe this was too much.

* * *

Vision found Steve while he was making eggs: he didn’t have much appetite, but he knew he needed to eat.

“Steve,” he said, sounding hesitant, and Steve turned, spatula in hand.

“Vision,” he said, maybe a little flatly. Wanda had told him - brimming with guilt - of Vision’s role in bringing Loki down. He wondered if he imagined the slump of his shoulders.

“May I ask after Loki’s welfare?”

“He’s recovering,” Steve said stiffly. He didn’t think Loki would want anyone to know how bad off he was. And Steve couldn’t help but feel - protective.

“That is…good.” Vision shifted, a remarkably human show of uncertainty. “Do you think he would like his cat back?”

Steve blinked. “What?”

“His cat,” Vision repeated. “I have been caring for him. He was alone.”

Váli, Steve realized. He’d been in their apartment when they’d gone to London, planning to come back - only they hadn’t. Couldn’t. And Loki’s death had consumed so much of Steve that…

He felt a painful twist of guilt.

“He’s healthy,” Vision said. “I’ve tried to care for him as best as I knew how. But I thought perhaps…”

Loki loved Váli. Had spoiled him rotten. He’d been Steve’s gift, Loki’s constant companion since those early days. Steve pictured Loki lounging on the sofa, Váli curled up in his lap, both of them at peace.

He turned off the stove. “Can you take me to him?” Steve asked. “I think Loki would love to see him again.”

* * *

Váli wound almost frantically around Steve’s legs, rubbing against him and yowling. When Steve bent down and extended a hand, he rose up on hind legs to push his head against Steve’s fingers.

“Hey, fella,” Steve said, unable to keep from smiling. “Good to see you, too.” He looked up at Vision. “Thank you for looking after him.”

“It was the least I could do,” Vision said, subdued. “I hope he can help.”

_I hope so too,_ Steve said, and lifted Váli into his arms, prepared for claws, but there was not so much as a hint. The noise of his purr was like a little motor vibrating against Steve’s chest.

He went directly to Loki’s room, pausing when he heard voices through the door. “–need to eat something,” Thor was saying, voice almost pleading. “Recover your strength-”

“I’m not hungry,” Loki said dully. “It tastes like ashes, Thor, I can’t-”

Steve knocked, lightly. Silence fell.

“Can I come in?” He asked.

It was Loki who said, “yes.” Steve shifted Váli so he could open the door and step inside.

“Tell Loki he needs to eat,” Thor said, sounding weary, but Loki’s eyes widened.

Váli started squirming in Steve’s arms. He bent down to let him onto the floor and he zipped over to the bed, leaping up onto it and climbing up Loki’s chest to shove his head in his face.

“Váli?” He said, voice wobbling a little.

“Vision’s been taking care of him,” Steve said. “I thought you might want to see him again.”

Loki reached up almost hesitantly to scratch Váli behind the ears. Steve could hear his purring from the doorway, and he saw Loki smile. A small one, true, but a real one that reached all the way to his eyes.

Something loosened in Steve’s chest. He glanced at Thor, who looked from him to Loki and back at him, and the gratitude in his eyes was painfully transparent.

“What do you think,” Steve asked. “Is he happy to see you?”

The sound Loki let out wasn’t quite a laugh, but it was something almost like one. Váli had settled down on Loki’s chest like he was intent on keeping him in place. Steve’s eyes started burning and he swallowed hard.

_Thank you,_ Thor mouthed at him. Steve dipped his head in Váli’s direction.

_Thank him._

* * *

Steve came back in the evening to find Loki fast asleep, breathing deep and slow, Váli still curled up on his chest.


	18. we all drift sometimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve leaves, and Sam is the one who has to manage. 
> 
> At least until Steve comes back, and not alone.

Sam was very familiar with the fact that when things went to shit, they went to shit fast, and hard, and usually in ways you couldn’t predict. He knew that. But you know, on some level he’d still kind of had that stupid feeling that Loki was invincible.

The world always loved proving you wrong on that one.

So Loki died, Steve was gone, Bucky’d dropped off the grid, and Stark and his little cadre were officially dead to Sam. And somehow he’d ended up in charge of what was left. Him and Clint and Wanda and Pietro and Scott.

Lucky fucking him.

* * *

They’d been on their own for almost a year when Sam’s phone rang. New York area code, not his sister or his mom. He stared at it, wondering if it was Stark, but picked up on the off chance it wasn’t.

“Sam?”

“Fuck,” Sam breathed. “ _Steve._ ”

“Yeah,” Steve said after a second. He sounded beat. But he also sounded alive, which…Sam hadn’t been sure. “It’s me.”

“Are you in New York?” Sam asked. “What are you doing? Are you okay? Do you need-”

“I’m fine,” Steve said, which didn’t mean anything, because it was Steve. “I’m…I’m coming back. In a couple days, I think, as long as…probably a couple days. I’ll let you know if something changes.”

Sam stood up. “You’re coming to Wakanda?” There was a warning prickling down his spine. “What’s going on?”

“Not over the phone,” Steve said. “I’ll explain when I see you.”

Sam was going to be mad, when he wasn’t so relieved. When he wasn’t trying to panic about what Steve didn’t want to say. “All right,” he said, because he didn’t think arguing was going to get him anywhere. “It okay if I spread the news?”

“Please,” Steve said. “Though…I should probably tell Buck myself.”

Sam chewed on the inside of his cheek. “He dropped off the grid, Steve. A week after you did. I haven’t heard from him since.”

Silence. “Okay,” Steve said. “Okay, that’s…we’ll track him down.” Sam blinked, faintly alarmed by the lack of alarm in Steve’s voice. “Thanks, Sam,” Steve said after a moment.

“You’re welcome,” Sam said automatically. “I guess I’ll see you in a couple days?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Hopefully.” He hung up.

“Hopefully?” Sam said to thin air. There was a bad feeling in his gut, like he always got when something was about to go sour, and he couldn’t help but think that whatever was bringing Steve back now…it wasn’t because he was feeling all better.

* * *

Steve hadn’t come back alone.

He’d brought Thor, but that was kind of burying the lede.

He’d brought Loki.

Loki walked out of the plane looking like a ghost, even paler and skinnier than Sam remembered, his eyes a little too wide. He looked like he was only half here, half somewhere else, almost quivering with tension, but he looked at Sam (who’d come alone, at Steve’s request) and smiled. Or tried. It looked like someone who was trying to remember how the expression worked.

“Trust me,” he said, “I know how you feel.” It sure looked like Loki. Sounded like him. But he’d watched Loki die on a screen in the RAFT.

“Is this real?” Sam heard himself ask. Damn, he sounded like a kid.

“It’s real,” Thor said. Sam walked over to Loki and stuck out a hand. Loki stared at it, something nervous, tense, in his expression, but he extended his hand back. Sam took it, pressed his fingers to the pulse in his wrist.

Loki gave him five heartbeats before he pulled away, cradling his wrist to his chest like Sam’s touch had burned him. That smile again, and Sam wished he would stop trying.

“Jesus,” Sam said faintly. “Welcome back.” He glanced over at Steve and Thor. “Can I ask for an explanation?”

“Is there somewhere I can rest for the duration?” Loki asked. “It’s been a long flight.”

He was good. Sam might’ve fallen for it, if he hadn’t seen so many guys doing the same thing. Playing at normal, something broken underneath, twisted out of joint. Or something about the way Loki held himself, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his body. Sam caught himself looking for a prosthetic.

PTDD. Post traumatic death disorder, first case.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Yeah, sure. There’s plenty of space.”

Loki went back onto the plane and returned with a cat carrier. “Lead on,” he said simply.

* * *

“So,” Sam said, “you went to Hell with Tony Stark and brought Loki back to life.”

“Yes,” Steve said. “That’s…what happened.”

Sam just stared at him. “You know that is just…impossible on so many levels.” Steve shrugged, and Sam rubbed his hands down his face. “Well…okay, I guess. He’s really…it’s really…”

“It’s him,” Steve said. “And he’s really alive.” He didn’t sound as overjoyed as he should’ve, though. Tired, like he had on the phone.

“And not okay,” Sam said, not a question. Steve looked down.

“No,” he said after a moment. “Not really.”

“He’s better than he was,” Thor said, almost defensive.

“That’s a low bar,” Steve said quietly. Sam waited, and Steve sighed. “When…when he first came back he’d just - scream. It took a while to figure out - what was going on. Everything was just…too much. Sounds, light. Even just - blankets or clothes touching him. He couldn’t handle it.”

Sam winced. He imagined it like coming out of a sensory deprivation tank straight into TImes Square on New Year’s. He thought of how quickly Loki had pulled away, how he’d held his wrist to his chest afterwards.

“It’s not like that anymore,” Thor said. Then closed his eyes and said, “but…”

“Still not great,” Sam filled in. “Easily overwhelmed.” He considered. “Does he shut down or lash out?”

“Shuts down,” Steve said. “He’s not…dangerous. Not to anyone else.”

“To himself?” Sam said. Steve looked like he wanted to be talking about anything but this.

“Maybe,” Steve said. “It’s like…I don’t think he’s  _trying._ It’s just…it’s like he’s testing if he’s really here.”

“Ah,” Sam said. He rubbed his forehead. “How bad?”

“Nothing serious,” Steve said. “And not…often. It could be accidental. Mostly he just…sleeps.”

“Do you think he needs it?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know.” Steve pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. In what looked like an unconscious gesture, Thor reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing.

“We hoped that it would help him,” Thor said. “Being here among friends.”

“Maybe it will,” Sam said, though he had no idea. He could imagine a lot of things. Understand a lot of things. He was good at it.

But he had no idea what it would be like to come back from the dead.

* * *

He went to see Loki on his own, first chance he got, and found him lying on the couch with his cat on his chest. At first he thought he was asleep, but then he realized he was just lying very still.

“Hey,” Sam said, keeping his voice quiet. Loki jerked and the cat jumped off with a meow of protest.

“I didn’t hear you,” Loki said, sitting up. “I was…thinking.”

_Dangerous hobby,_ Sam might’ve said another time. He didn’t think now was it. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “I just figured I didn’t give you the best welcome and maybe I should actually…you know. Do better. Sorry, I couldn’t find any Pad Thai. Ever had maafe?”

“No,” Loki said after a moment.

“It’s great,” Sam said. “Stew. Figured you might want to try some.”

Loki wandered over, though he held himself at a distance. Sam didn’t comment on it.

“It makes you uncomfortable,” Loki said abruptly. “Me being…alive.”

Sam paused. “No,” he said after a moment. “You coming back from the dead - that weirds me out, a little. You being alive…as far as I’m concerned, that’s a very, very, good thing.”

“Is it?” Loki said. He sounded like he wasn’t sure if he wanted Sam to hear it or not.

Sam didn’t have to hesitate. He thought about the last eleven months. He thought about how he’d felt watching that sick video and knowing, fucking  _knowing,_ that those people saw Loki more as a science project than a person and how hissing,  _spitting_ mad that made him.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “It is.”


	19. is it wrong to love a family of ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda in the aftermath, and upon Loki's return.

She didn’t know what it was at the time, but Loki’s resurrection hit Wanda like a concussive blast, leaving her with a vicious headache and a stomach that was a pit of dread, the more so because she had no idea what had happened. Only that there’d been some kind of disturbance in the energy of things, so intense that she’d sensed it even though it’d been nowhere nearby.

But nothing happened for a month, and then two. Their little ersatz family had dwindled: it was just her, Pietro, Sam, and Clint now. The rest of them - gone. Scattered to the winds. Or - or.

Then Sam showed up one day while the other three of them were making paprikash, a strange look on his face.

“Steve’s coming back,” he said. Clint sat up sharp, and Wanda felt her eyes widen.

“He is?” Clint said. “Did something - happen? Is this related to-” He gestured at Wanda. Sam shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said. “He just said he was coming back, and that he was sorry for being away so long.”

“Nothing else?” Clint asked. Sam shook his head.

“Nothing else.”

Clint made a face. “That give anyone else a bad feeling, or just me?” He asked. Wanda looked down at her hands twisting together.

“Not just you,” she said quietly. She wanted to believe it could be good news. But she wasn’t expecting that anymore.

* * *

Steve was back.

Steve was back, with Thor. And they’d brought Loki.

Wanda hadn’t seen him yet. Nobody had.  _How,_ was the question on everyone’s lips, but Wanda wanted to ask  _when,_ thinking of that blast of energy that had knocked her flat.

“He’s still recovering,” Steve said, like death was just another illness, or a wound. “He gets…overwhelmed, easily. So just…keep that in mind.”

_He’s not well,_ Wanda heard.  _He’s still suffering, even alive._ She looked down at her hands, tangled together. Pietro put his hand on her back, drawing closer; glancing sideways at Clint, he looked pale.

She wondered what he was thinking.

As soon as she could, she went to Steve. “Can I see Loki?” She asked, bluntly. Steve hesitated, and she added, “maybe I can help.”

Steve looked exhausted, she noticed. Like one weight had lifted from his shoulders only for another to fall. “Do you think so?” He asked, after a long pause.

“I don’t know for sure,” Wanda said. “But maybe I could. And…he’s a friend, Steve. I want to see him.”

Steve rubbed his forehead. “Okay,” he said, finally. “You should know that he’s…sensitive. To sound, and sometimes to touch, too.”

Wanda bit her lip, and held open her arms to offer a hug. Steve stepped forward and accepted it, his shoulders drooping.

“He’s back,” Wanda said. “We’ll…we can put him back together.”

“Yeah,” Steve said after a pause. “We will.”

* * *

Wanda hesitated for a long time outside of Loki’s door, her heart in her throat. A part of her was scared that when she opened the door, Loki would be gone. A part of her was scared of what he might be like, if she was there. So far, other than Thor and Steve, he didn’t seem to have spoken to anyone.

Bucky was still gone. Wanda wondered if he knew. How would he have found out?

She knocked lightly on the door, mindful of what Steve had said about sound.

“Yes?” Said Loki’s voice, and Wanda’s eyes burned just for hearing it, just as she remembered. She opened the door and entered.

He stood there, pale, weary-looking, dark circles around his eyes. Alive. Wanda took a lurching step toward him and stopped herself. “Loki,” she said, trying to smile though she felt about to burst into tears. “You’re - welcome back.”

His smile was small, and didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Witchling,” he said. “Thank you. It’s…good to see you too.”

“Can I…” She hesitated, gulping down the lump in her throat. “Can I hug you?” She waited for his slight nod and then stepped lightly forward and embraced him, though not as hard as she wanted to. He felt so thin. Almost insubstantial.

She’d make some hearty cholent, some hot soup like her mother used to make. Good, solid, food. It’d help. It would.

“I’m so glad,” she said. “I’m - you were gone, and I…” She started crying. “Oh, dammit,” she said, wetly, and ducked her head, trying to hide it. Loki reached out and touched her arm.

“Witchling,” he said softly. “I’m…sorry.”

“No,” she said immediately. “Don’t be sorry. Don’t  _ever_ be sorry, it wasn’t your fault.  _I’m_ sorry. I should have - if I’d dealt with Vision-”

“Don’t,” Loki said. “It isn’t your fault either. That I…died.”

Wanda reached out to take his hands; they twitched in hers and she quickly let go. His skin felt cold. “Don’t ever,” she whispered, “don’t ever do that again.”

“I’ll do my best,” Loki said, soft but wry. He looked like he was fighting for the smile. She looked up at him.

“How are you?” She asked.

“Not dead,” Loki said. Wanda frowned at him, though some part of her leaped hopefully at what was almost a joke. He held out his hands with another weak smile. “Do you want to inspect me? I honestly don’t know what you’ll find.”

Wanda bit her lip, but that was why she was here, wasn’t it? She reached out and took his hands. “Tell me,” she said softly, “if you need me to stop.”

She reached out for him with her magic, slowly and gently. His power, she could sense immediately, was burning low. Weakened, almost to embers, and she tried to feed her own strength into it but it separated like oil from water.

That wasn’t the only thing that was - wrong, though. There was something else, something strange. She probed carefully deeper, and inhaled shakily, realising what it was.

Where there should have been smooth flow of energy, it was like - a snarled tangle of yarn. Loose ends fluttering, bleeding out, dissipating off his skin. This, she knew at once, was why his magic was so weak. This was the wrongness that she realized she could feel, now that she was aware of it, just standing in the room. Something vital, not missing, but broken. His soul, maybe, cut loose and then throw back into flesh, the two struggling to join.

She pulled back and realized she was crying.

“That bad?” Loki asked, though his small, unhappy smile made her suspect he’d already known.

“Loki,” she said, and squeezed her eyes closed. “It’s going to be okay,” she said, because she needed to believe that. With time…

She hugged him again, knowing it was too tightly, unable to help herself. In her arms, she could feel Loki trembling, the quiet and shaky sound of his breathing.


	20. homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky comes in from the cold.

Bucky was very deliberate about dropping off the grid.

He didn’t want anyone looking for him, especially Steve’s friends. He didn’t want anyone finding him. If anyone caught his trail, they weren’t going to trace him back to anyone else. Not that anyone had even gotten close.

He might not be Hydra’s Winter Soldier anymore, but he was still good at his job. His job right now was a little different from his usual, though: he was trying to track down Loki’s body.

Might be pointless. Might be there was nothing left but bits and pieces, but if there was  _anything_ then Bucky was going to make sure whatever was left got the send-off Loki would’ve deserved.

The news took a long time to filter down the grapevine to him, and when he first heard it it stopped him dead, because all he could assume was that someone was trying to lure him out. A rumor of a rumor: Steve Rogers was in Wakanda.

Even more surprising was the word he picked up a few days later, in a code maybe three people knew:  _We need you. He’s back._

_He._ Steve, Bucky thought, and he shouldn’t, not like he was now, but…

He shaved, changed his clothes, swapped identities, and headed for Wakanda’s border.

* * *

Bucky was sort of surprised they let him in. Must’ve built up some solid goodwill, somehow. Or maybe T’Challa still felt bad about trying to kill him.

Sam met him first. “Welcome back,” he said, voice flat. Still pissed, clearly. “Heard about Ross.”

“Real tragedy,” Bucky said. “Where’s Steve?”

Sam took a deep breath. “He’s with Loki.”

Bucky blinked. “He’s what?”

“With Loki,” Sam repeated. “That’s, uh. I don’t really get it, but Steve and Thor brought him back.”

“From the  _dead?_ ” Bucky said.

“Yep,” Sam said. “It’s been a month and a half.”

“A month and a-” Bucky swore. “And you didn’t get in touch with me before now?”

“And how,” Sam said, his voice going tight again, “were we supposed to do that?”

“You figured it out, didn’t you,” he snapped, but then realized - three people knew that code. Romanov. Him. And Loki.

He’d never told Steve. One of those Hydra things he didn’t want to touch him. Unless Loki had shared that at some point…he hissed out through his teeth. So it was Loki, probably, who’d told them how to get in touch with him. Eventually.

Bucky hoped it was because he’d been stalling, for some reason. Maybe he was pissed at Bucky, too. For leaving him on that field. Bucky was pissed at Loki for staying, so they’d be even.

“Bucky,” Sam said, after a pause. “It’s…not great.”

“How so,” Bucky said carefully. Sam blew out a breath.

“Turns out coming back from the dead ain’t easy,” he said after a moment. “Steve’s taking it hard.”

_Should’ve been here,_ said a nasty voice at the back of Bucky’s mind. He shoved it aside. “Show me where to go.”

“Sure thing,” Sam said. “But two rules. No physical contact unless he does it first, and no raised voices.”

“Sure,” Bucky said tightly. “Easy enough.”

* * *

Steve looked - fragile. Exhausted, and he hugged Bucky a little too tightly. “You’re okay,” he said quietly. “When you weren’t here…”

“Sorry,” Bucky said. “I came as soon as I heard.”

If Steve was fragile, Loki was…Bucky didn’t want to say  _broken,_ but that was a little bit of the feeling. At the very least bent. Dented. Bruised. Too thin and his eyes were too wide and Bucky remembered what Sam had said, keeping his distance.

“James,” he said, with a faint smile. That cat was curled up on his lap, watching Bucky intently but not budging from his perch. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks for calling me in,” Bucky said. Loki blinked, momentary confusion flickering across his expression before it cleared.

“Ah,” he said. “My apologies for…sharing your secret.”

_He needs your help._ Yeah, he wasn’t so sure that’d meant Steve anymore. Like Bucky knew what to do in this situation. Like he was any good at  _helping._  “It’s fine,” he said. “Jesus, Loki, you’re…it’s good to see you.”

That faint smile widened just a second toward something more genuine before it fell back. “And you,” he said. “Though I am afraid I am not…the best of company, at the moment.”

Bucky snorted. “You came back from the fucking dead,” he said. “I don’t think anyone’s expecting you to be just peachy.”

A faint shiver ran through Loki’s body. “Well,” he murmured. “I’m certainly not that.”

“I shouldn’t’ve left you there,” Bucky blurted out. “I should’ve thrown you over my shoulder and dragged you to that plane kicking and screaming. You know that, right? Shot Stark in the face and just fucking-” He realized his voice was rising and cut himself off. Right. Five minutes and he’d already broken one of the rules.

“You couldn’t have made me go anywhere,” Loki said. “It isn’t your fault. That I died.”

_Somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better._

“I killed Ross,” he said, after a moment. Like that fixed anything. Fuck, he was bad at this.

Loki lifted his head, and for just a moment some of that old fire burned in his eyes. “Good,” he said, low and hard. “I hope it hurt.”

Looking at Loki, Bucky thought it hadn’t hurt nearly enough.


	21. this problem lies in me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Allfather comes to visit, though he has ulterior motives.

Thor’s message had been brief - just a simple summons that made Steve undeniably nervous. He left Loki sleeping (still, he did so  _much_ of that, like he just couldn’t shake the exhaustion weighing him down) and walked to Thor’s rooms, knocking on the door.

“It’s me,” he called, and a moment later the door opened. Thor’s expression was tense and unhappy, and the moment he stepped back to let Steve inside he saw why.

He didn’t look like he had last time Steve had seen him. The man on Thor’s couch was slightly stooped, bearded with white hair to his shoulders. He was dressed in grey instead of gold, but the eyepatch - even if it was simple brown leather rather than gold - was distinctive enough.

Steve felt his face freeze and glanced at Thor, who spread his hands.

“Odin,” Steve said simply. “This is unexpected.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” Steve said. “You haven’t seemed inclined to visit before.” He kept his voice polite enough, but he didn’t feel much of a need to do more than that, even if Thor looked like he wanted to wince.

“He wishes to see Loki,” Thor said quietly.

_I don’t think so,_ Steve wanted to snap.  _You’re the last thing he needs right now. The very last._ “Does he,” Steve said under his breath.

“My son was murdered, and now he is alive,” Odin said.

“I told him that Loki is still not well,” Thor said. “That he needs time.”

“I doubt he’s going to want to see you,” Steve said bluntly. “And I think you know that, or you would’ve gone to him first instead of trying to go through Thor.”

Odin did not look pleased. “Is it necessary that he be here?” He asked, the question directed at Thor. “This is a family matter.”

“He is family,” Thor said firmly. “Or as good as. You will not send him away for speaking the truth.”

Odin did not look pleased. “Very well,” he said, and directed his gaze back at Steve. “I do not think it is up to you whether I get to see my son or not. I came to see Thor as a courtesy, not to make any request.”

“So you don’t care what Loki wants,” Steve said.

“Are you able to read minds, that you would know?” Odin said. “You are quick to speak for him.”

“We’ve talked about you,” Steve said. “I can guess.” Odin’s eye flashed and Steve tensed, but Thor broke in.

“Why is mother not here?” Thor asked. “Why didn’t she come as well?”

Odin hesitated. “I thought it best that Frigga hold until I…assessed the situation.”

_What does that mean,_ Steve thought, but Thor’s eyes widened with sudden anger.

“You did not come to welcome your son back, or to offer comfort to him,” Thor said. “You came suspecting that we might have raised a revenant, some undead abomination-”

“There are very few stories of resurrections that do not end poorly,” Odin said. “You know this, Thor, and yet you acted anyway!”

Steve’s fists clenched. “There’s no way I’m letting you  _inspect_ him,” he said, and heard his voice tremble slightly. “Definitely not when you’re already  _assuming_ that he’s not - not  _himself._ ”

Odin ignored him. “How sure are you, Thor, that what you brought back is truly Loki? That it is not-”

“ _Don’t talk about him like that,_ ” Steve said, even as Thor said, “Do you think I do not know my own brother?”

“Enough,” Odin said, his voice clear and commanding. “As I said. This is not a  _request._ ” His expression softened, very slightly. “Do you think I do not want to be wrong?”

Thor said nothing, his jaw set. Steve planted his feet, glad he was still standing between Odin and the door - though he realized he didn’t know if Odin could do the same as Loki and simply teleport away. To Loki’s room, perhaps, where he would poke and prod and Loki was too  _fragile_ for that, Loki would pick up on those doubts and make them his own.

“I do,” Odin said, more quietly. “I want this to be Loki, returned to life. He is my  _son._ ”

“Last you saw him,” Steve said, “you stripped him of almost everything and threw him out.” Odin’s expression tightened and relaxed.

“As was necessary to save his life.” He looked at Thor. “You must understand that. And you must understand why this is necessary.”

“And what,” Thor said, “will you do if you believe you find evidence that Loki is not - that he is a revenant of some kind? Will you strike him down? Kill him again?” Thor shook his head. “No. I agree with Steve. Loki is still vulnerable - still recovering. Father…I am sorry.”

“No,” said a quiet voice from behind Steve, and he turned, eyes widening. Loki was standing there, leaning against the doorframe in what might have passed for casual ease if it weren’t for the paleness of his face and the lines of strain around his eyes. He must have been hiding himself. Listening. For how long?

He wasn’t looking at Steve, or at Thor.

“No,” Loki said again. “He is right.”

_You’d say that,_ Steve wanted to say.  _Of course you’d say that._ His heart sank. “Loki,” he said quietly, but Loki didn’t look at him.

“I would sooner know now rather than later if I am…a revenant. Before I start turning on you.” His smile was thin and strained, and vanished quickly. He straightened and walked forward. “Do as you will, All-Father.”

Odin was looking at Loki with a strange expression on his face, like he couldn’t decide whether to be overjoyed or afraid. Steve resisted the urge to step between them; Thor looked dismayed.

“Loki,” he said quietly, “this isn’t necessary.”

“I think it is,” Loki said. “You and I both know that there is something wrong with me.”

“You are  _hurt,_ ” Thor said. “That is not the same as - as-”

The corner of Loki’s mouth twisted upward. “All-Father,” he said, walking forward to stand before him, and Steve saw Odin flinch, just barely, as he stood.

“What are you going to do,” he asked, because he didn’t think he could stop this, even if his stomach hurt for nerves. He didn’t believe it. Didn’t believe Loki was some kind of…undead  _monster._ But he was afraid that Odin might conclude differently.

“A simple delving,” Odin said, not glancing at Steve. “That is all.”

Loki held out his hands, but Odin laid his on Loki’s shoulders. Steve saw him tense, but he didn’t pull away. Touch no longer hurt him, but he was still shy of it. Less so from Steve or Thor, but from almost anyone else…

It only took a moment. Then Odin inhaled and he pulled Loki into an embrace, his one eye gleaming. “My son,” he said. Steve saw Thor’s shoulders slump, and felt his own swell of relief. Loki didn’t move to return the hug, his body still tense and unmoving. “You’ve come back to us.”

“Are you satisfied, then,” Steve heard Loki mumble, voice muffled.

“You are here,” Odin said. “I know not how, but…you are returned.”

Loki exhaled, but oddly enough he did not seem soothed. He pulled away, taking three quick steps back. “I need to go,” he said, and vanished. Steve reached out too late to catch him. Odin’s expression was strange, a tight mix of disappointment and resignation.

“So,” Steve said. “He’s fine. Not some kind of  _abomination._ ”

“No,” Odin said after a brief pause. “He is not. It seems Loki indeed lives once more. If…not well.”

Steve just barely resisted the urge to say  _and do you think you helped?_ “He’s getting better,” he said, and couldn’t quite keep it from sounding defensive.

“I could send Eir,” Odin said, directed plainly at Thor. “Or another Aesir healer, who might be able to-”

“No,” Thor said firmly. “Loki does not need a stranger. He needs those who care for him. Who will support him as he heals.” There was something hard in Thor’s voice, that caught Steve by surprise. He narrowed his eyes as the two of them stared at one another.

“I’m going to go check on Loki,” Steve said. “See you later, Thor.”

He turned and walked out, leaving them to it. He needed to make sure that Loki was going to be all right.

* * *

Loki was sitting curled up on the windowseat, his forehead pressed to the glass.

“Hey,” Steve said quietly. Loki turned his head just barely, so Steve could see his profile, though not his expression.

“Steve,” he said. “Is he gone?”

“No,” Steve said. “Thor’s talking with him.”

Loki nodded, barely. “I wonder if he will try to speak with me again.” His voice was quiet, strangely distant. Steve walked over slowly and sat down on the seat, trying to catch his eye.

“I can chase him off if he tries.”

“You don’t need to,” Loki said. “I do not want him to see you as an enemy.”

“I don’t care,” Steve said. He paused. “Are you…how are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” Loki said.

“Is it…a relief, at all?”

“In some ways,” Loki said after a long pause. “I don’t  _want_ to be…that.”

Steve swallowed hard. “But?”

“But it would tell me what I am,” he said. His eyes closed. “No one comes back from the dead, Steve. And yet here I am. How do I make sense of that?”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Steve said, trying to make it half a joke. It fell painfully flat.

Loki looked down at his hands. “Sometimes this body does not feel like mine,” he said, voice barely audible. “I should feel relief. But that isn’t what I feel. Or maybe it is, and I don’t remember what relief should feel like.”

There was a lump in Steve’s throat that he fought to swallow.

“There  _is_  something wrong with me,” Loki said.

Steve’s eyes burned and he breathed deeply until he was sure tears wouldn’t spill.

“Would you hold me?” Loki asked in a very small voice. Steve almost choked.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, Loki. Of course.”


	22. putting pieces back together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki reckons with what he left behind. Namely, goes looking for his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter for some description of dissection, death, and generally the gruesome content that you might expect from, as I summarized this one on Tumblr, "Loki tries to find the remaining pieces of his original body which was claimed by the government for experimental purposes after coming back from the dead." So that's out there.

Steve woke up from restless, light, sleep, and reached instinctively out for Loki. For a moment, panic struck, not finding him there, but then he sighed and rolled out of bed, walking out into the living room. He wasn’t exactly surprised to find Loki awake, sitting on one of the chairs with his legs folded underneath him and staring out the windows.

He was sleeping less now, which was good because it meant he was regaining his strength, but bad because…he wasn’t sleeping enough. And while he could share Steve’s bed again, he still periodically flinched at too much skin-to-skin contact.

Loki turned to look at him, hearing him come in - that was good, too. He was paying attention, not off…wherever he went, sometimes. Steve wasn’t sure he wanted to know where that was. He thought he should probably ask.

“Steve,” he said, unsmiling.

“Hey,” Steve said, walking over and reaching out to brush his fingers just lightly against Loki’s shoulder. His heart leapt when Loki leaned toward him with a very quiet sigh.

“Steve,” Loki said, eyes turning back toward the windows. “There’s something I need to do.”

“What?” Steve asked carefully, nerves combining with a strange kind of hope, because it was, he thought, the first time Loki had shown inclination toward  _doing_ much of anything. But the question of what it might be.

Loki’s hands fidgeted with each other. “I need to find what…what’s left of my body. And…and destroy it.”

Steve blinked. His gorge rose, briefly, and he swallowed hard.  _What’s left of my body._ He’d tried not to think too much about…about what must have happened. What he knew had to have. Tried not to think about Loki’s body laid out on a slab in some sterile facility. When Loki had returned, seemingly rebuilt from nothing, he’d managed to shove it even further away. But Loki…

“Do you.” Steve swallowed again. “Do you know that…”

“There’s anything to find?” Loki’s expression flickered, and Steve thought maybe he wasn’t quite so blase about this as he was trying to sound. “I’m not…certain. But it seems likely, doesn’t it? They wouldn’t…be quick to dispose of. Potentially useful resources.”

Steve bit down on the inside of his cheek so he didn’t start hyperventilating, and to quell his nausea.  _You mean body parts. Bits and pieces of what was_ you.  _Because you weren’t a person to those people, you were just a thing._

_Spare parts._ He thought of the glimpse of Loki in Doom’s laboratory. The only difference was that Ross and his cronies had waited until they’d killed Loki to start taking him apart.

Steve pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. Loki reached out and put a hand around his wrist - loosely, but it was still contact.

“Why,” Steve forced out. “Can I ask - why?”

“I don’t want them to have anything of mine,” Loki said at once. “It may not be…but it was my body. I will not leave it to their knives and pawing hands.” His voice shook, just slightly. Steve squeezed his eyes closed and forced them open.

“All right,” he said. “All right. We can. I’ll ask T’Challa if he can get into US government files-”

“No,” Loki interrupted. “Ask Stark.”

Steve blinked, startled. Loki’s lips quirked in a bitter, humorless smile.

“He still owes me a debt,” Loki said. “And we know he can get into their information. And I would rather put  _him_ at risk of retaliation, should he be caught, than Wakanda’s king.”

It was ruthless, calculating, and almost reassuring. Steve went over it in his head, and if he was still unwilling -  _more_ than unwilling - to reach out to Tony for anything…

“All right,” he said. “I’ll ask.”

Loki exhaled, his shoulders dropping, like he’d expected Steve to refuse. “Thank you,” he said quietly. He gave Steve’s wrist the lightest of squeezes, and Steve’s heart ached.

* * *

“He wants what?” Tony said, voice a little high-pitched.

“You heard me,” Steve said, because he didn’t want to repeat it. Not bothering to keep the flat, curt tone out of his voice.

“Yeah, I heard you, but I’m having a bit of a hard time processing. Loki wants me to - try to find out where the government took his. Uh. His body. I got that right?”

“Yes,” Steve said. “You got that right.”

Tony was quiet for a long moment. “I looked already,” he said. Steve jerked.

“You  _what?_ ”

“I said, I looked already,” Tony repeated, his voice tight. “After - after. I figured that - uh, he - wasn’t the kind of…that the US government couldn’t exactly be trusted with…that.”

Steve, perversely, wanted him to say it.  _With his corpse._ He wasn’t sure he could hear it without exploding, though. “And?”

“And nothing,” Tony said. “I didn’t find anything.”

Steve set his jaw. “Look again.”

“Steve-”

“I said, look again,” Steve said. “There’s a paper trail somewhere. You’re good at ferreting stuff out, aren’t you? So figure it out.”

He waited until he heard a long, slow, exhale. “All right,” Tony said finally, heavily. “I’ll try again. But Steve…it’s been a while.”

“They’ll have kept something,” Steve said flatly, his stomach rolling. “Loki would’ve been too valuable a specimen to dispose of everything.”

He heard Tony make a faint sound on the other end of the line and was bitterly, briefly, satisfied. Let him think about that. Like Steve was. Like Loki had to be.

“I’ll call you if I find something,” Tony said at length, and hung up.

* * *

To say Thor wasn’t happy about the idea was an understatement. Thor was  _horrified._

Not that Loki wanted to do it. At Loki being involved.

“Don’t I have the right?” Loki asked.

“The right,” Thor said. “But not the  _need._ You must know that - what would it do to you, brother, to…”

“I doubt it would be worse than death,” Loki said. Thor flinched, and Steve shook his head.

“I think,” he said slowly, “this is something Loki has to do, Thor. I don’t love it either, but…it seems like it’s important.” He paused. “Besides, until Tony finds something, it’s a moot point anyway.”

Thor was shaking his head, giving Steve an almost incredulous look. “You’re going along with this?”

“It’s my choice,” Loki said. “If I have to go alone-”

“You’re not  _well,_ ” Thor said, and Loki’s spine snapped taut.

“I’m well enough,” he said, his voice hardening. Thor gave Steve a plaintive look. “Thor,” Loki said, quieter. “I need to do this.”

Thor’s shoulders fell. “I can’t change your mind, can I,” he said heavily. Loki gave him a crooked smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“No.”

Thor nodded, finally. “Then…so be it. At least let me help.”

“I doubt I could keep you away,” Loki said, and the energy had gone out of his voice. He just looked exhausted, again. “I need to rest.”

“Rest,” Steve said. “If there’s any news…I’ll let you know right away.”

Loki slipped out, and he and Thor looked at each other. Thor looked pained.

“I know,” Steve said heavily.

“What does he think he’s doing,” Thor said, with a mixture of frustration and despair. Steve grimaced.

“I…I don’t know. But maybe it’ll help him find some closure. Maybe it’ll give him some kind of peace to sever that link to…what happened. And practically speaking…”

“I understand the  _practicality,_ ” Thor interrupted. “But why does it have to be  _him?_  To see what they did, how they might have  _desecrated-_ ”

He stopped. Steve was grateful that he did.

“Maybe it’ll help him process, somehow,” Steve said, though it sounded weak even as he said it. “Confront it head on.”

“Or maybe he is just being stubborn,” Thor said.

“Maybe,” Steve said. “But it’s also…” He took a deep breath. “This is the first time Loki’s  _wanted_ to do anything, since coming back. Asked for anything, shown…initiative. That seems…important. Doesn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Thor said. “Maybe. But I…what if this backfires? What if it sets him back all over again?”

“Then we’ll deal with it,” Steve said, trying to sound more sure than he felt. The truth was, he wasn’t sure that  _he_ could. “However we need to.”

Thor nodded, slowly, then reached out and clasped Steve’s neck in a gesture Steve recognized. He’d seen Thor do it with Loki. Had Loki do it with him. “I am glad you are here,” Thor said quietly. “I wonder if I could do this alone.”

Steve wished that felt like enough.

* * *

Tony called. “I’ve got something,” he said. “Hid it but good, but I’m still better.” Steve’s fingers tightened on the phone.

“Where,” he said. That was all.

* * *

The coordinates Tony gave him led to a lab in the middle of nowhere. Nondescript, not labeled on the map. They had a satellite image they had to use to find their way.

Loki’s expression was strained, keeping up the magic that kept them hidden as they snuck in - just the two of them, Thor waiting outside the perimeter in case they needed backup. “Are you going to be okay?” Steve asked lowly, but Loki just jerked his head in a nod, jaw set.

Steve knew better than to argue.

_Sector Four,_ Tony had said, and fortunately there  _were_ signs inside. One security guard who didn’t so much as glance in their direction. Steve supposed most of the systems were probably automatic. Sector Four encompassed…not a small space, though, and for a moment Steve’s heart sank, but Loki was standing still, his eyes closed.

“This way,” he said abruptly. Steve blinked at him.

“How do you know?”

“I can feel it,” Loki said, a strange expression passing over his face, and Steve inhaled. He wondered what it felt like, to Loki. “At a further distance, I couldn’t, but now…”

He swayed, slightly, and Steve moved to steady him, but Loki steadied himself and started walking.

He passed through a locked door with a touch of his hand, and stopped. The door closed quietly behind them.

Steve looked at the table in the center. Sized for a body? There was a large metal door that had a yellow triangle with a snowflake and a label reading EXTREME COLD underneath. Steve stared at it, swallowing hard. Imagining what might be inside.

He started toward it, bracing himself, but Loki said, “no, not there.”

Steve turned.

Loki stood in front of the refrigerator. It didn’t, Steve thought, look big enough for a body.

Of course. They didn’t need Loki’s body  _whole._

Steve walked over slowly, reluctantly. The label on the door said  _L-2020-RFT_. Loki looked ashen, the color drained out of his face, and Steve saw him sway.

“I can,” he started to say, though opening that door was the last thing he wanted to do. His stomach was one tight knot and he wanted to throw up. Loki shook his head jerkily.

“No,” he said. “I don’t want you to…”

_See,_ Steve thought, would end that sentence. He shook his head.

“I’m not going to walk away. I don’t want  _you_ to do this alone.” He could see Loki shaking, minutely.

“Let’s be done with this,” he said, under his breath, like he was speaking to himself. He reached out and opened the door. A wave of cold air rolled out.

Steve didn’t know what he’d been expecting. In the back of his brain, maybe jars full of formaldehyde. But mostly it was…small, meticulously labeled, sample tubes. Boxes of slides. Components of what had been Loki, broken down to their most basic. He could make out a few words:  _heart, liver, lung._

He turned away, taking deep, harsh, breaths. Loki didn’t move, seemingly frozen.

“So in the end,” he said, voice distant, “this is what I am.”

Steve made himself turn back. “No,” he said. “This - isn’t  _you._ ”

Loki shivered, slightly. He reached in, slowly, and pulled out a white bucket maybe the size of Steve’s-

_Oh god._

Loki set it down on the nearby table and pried off the lid. Steve couldn’t see the expression on his face with his hair in the way. He felt pulled toward him, made himself walk over, made himself look over Loki’s shoulder out of some perverse need to  _know._

He veered away and threw up what felt like everything he’d ever eaten.

Loki moved slowly, replacing the lid and putting the brain -  _his_ brain - back in the refrigerator. Steve couldn’t straighten, couldn’t move.

He heard Loki snap his fingers. Heat flared on the side of Steve’s face, and he turned to see the fridge burst into flame. The reeking smell of plastic filled the air, flames - too hot for ordinary fire - reaching toward the ceiling. Loki stood there, perfectly still, watching. Steve made himself stand, and turn.

Loki inhaled suddenly, his eyes widening, and shuddered violently, and then again.

Then his eyes rolled up and his knees buckled, dropping to the floor like-

_(dead weight)_

“Loki!” Steve shouted, but the alarms had started going off, and all he could do was grab Loki and run.

* * *

They got away clear. Barely. Loki didn’t wake, didn’t stir; he breathed, and his heart beat, but otherwise he seemed-

_(dead to the world)_

-deeply unconscious.

Steve could feel himself panicking. He enlisted Wanda, praying wildly that she could do  _something,_ and waited while she put her fingers to Loki’s temples.

She pulled back with a sharp intake of breath, and Steve lurched forward. “Is he-”

“Something’s changed,” she said, and then looked at Steve, and a slow, fragile, smile bloomed. “Something’s  _better._  It’s like - something that was knotted up has smoothed out. There was something - missing, out of sync, but now…Steve, whatever he did, I think it helped.”

Steve looked at Loki, a thread of hope winding painfully around his heart. “So why is he…why did he faint?”

“I don’t know,” Wanda said. “Maybe…maybe there was some kind of release of power, and it overwhelmed him? I just know that…I saw him when he first came back. And how he feels now is different. Better. His magic is stronger again. This is  _good._ ”

Steve looked at Loki. Was there more color in his face? Was he breathing more deeply, his expression more peaceful? Or was he only imagining it?

He didn’t  _know._

Wanda left him, and Steve stayed, watching. Waiting.

Hoping.


End file.
